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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25966675">Trialled and Found Wanting</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ooft/pseuds/Ooft'>Ooft</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wade Wilson and Peter B. Parker [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Deadpool (Movieverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Humor, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Cute, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other, Peter B. Parker Needs a Hug, Platonic Cuddling, Plot, Sexual Humor, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Wade Wilson Breaking the Fourth Wall, unless...?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:35:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>60,504</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25966675</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ooft/pseuds/Ooft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter B. Parker wants to find love again. He wants kids. He wants to be happy. It's a good thing he has a plan (sort of) and a (somewhat) positive attitude. </p><p>This universe, however, seems to have different plans. Like, weird people with knives who keep trying to kill him? What kind of whack crap is that? </p><p>It's a good thing he's back in business with Wade Wilson. What kind of business they're in together, though... that's debatable.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter B. Parker &amp; Mary Jane Watson, Peter B. Parker &amp; Wade Wilson, Peter B. Parker/Mary Jane Watson, Peter B. Parker/Wade Wilson, Peter Parker &amp; Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker &amp; Wade Wilson, Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wade Wilson and Peter B. Parker [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904473</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>130</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Recipe for Success (or Maybe Failure)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter B Parker's apartment was a huge mess. A few days ago, he would've said his life was a bigger one, but ever since he met that kid, Miles… everything had started to look up again. </p><p>And god<em> damn </em>did Peter B miss looking up. </p><p>He also missed MJ like nothing else. He knew that, he'd known it for months and had just been in denial. Now, though, he knew for sure. No second guessing, no take-backsies, he missed her like he missed that burger joint. Okay, maybe not quite as much as the burger joint, but he missed her. </p><p>He also knew he wanted kids. It was stupid: Miles had been raised by amazing parents, so of course he turned into an amazing kid. Peter B was scared it wouldn't be the same if he had a kid. Though, what the hell, that was the point of taking the leap, wasn't it? Diving and falling and landing on your feet (or in a heap on the ground) was all part of the process. No one was born with the knowledge of how to raise a kid, it was touch-and-go, like everything else. </p><p>First and foremost, the most essential part of winning someone back and starting a family with them: cleaning the apartment! Something Peter B hated with a passion. Old Peter B. No, this new and funky Peter B was going to clean the living <em> shit </em>out of his apartment, then clean himself up, go to MJ's and win her back. They'd buy a cozy little house in the 'burbs and they'd have a couple chubby little terrors and everything would be great, it'd be just fantastic. </p><p>Still, the thought of going from Spiderman to Spiderdad was a little daunting. He'd have to start small, work his way up. </p><p>The bathroom, the smallest room in the apartment. Surely it wouldn't take too long to clean? </p><p>After 5 minutes of scrubbing the sink, Peter B decided he'd misjudged how long everything would take. Badly. There was still the bench and the shower and, God have mercy on him, the toilet. </p><p><em> For MJ. And the future cretin Peter Bs </em>. It became his mantra as he cleaned everything down, then cleaned it a second time just to make sure. Washing the shower meant he could wash himself at the same time, so he sprayed some anti-mould on the floor and left it to sit while he cleaned the second smallest area in the apartment, the kitchen. He cleaned that twice, treated his bedroom the same way and finally, the living room. It had taken hours and the sun had gone down when he stood in front of the shower, hands on his knees as he finally caught his breath and took a minute to think. </p><p>Spraying way too much anti-mould in hopes it would make the shower extra clean was a terrible idea and Peter B cursed himself with the foulest mouth possible when he almost slipped over. Feeling unbelievably stupid, he dropped down onto all fours and wiped the shower floor a bit with his hands, shaking his head as his thoughts turned to Wade Wilson. </p><p><em> That man would have a lot to say if he saw me on my knees like this </em> , Peter B chuckled at the thought. <em> 'Open your mouth a little, honey', or 'Being my maid for the day, huh?'  </em></p><p>MJ had never liked Wade. Which, in retrospect, was fair enough. He was perhaps a little vulgar sometimes, just a tad, but funny and that was what Peter B liked about him. A guy who was the opposite of Peter B and couldn't for the life of him tell a joke with a straight face, unless it was so ridiculous and absurd that he'd be smashed in for saying it any other way. </p><p>After clearing the shower a bit, Peter B stepped in and found himself in a second bout of cursing when he realised he'd left the water cold. He may have done a good job cleaning the place, but he was struggling a little with himself, it seemed. </p><p>The soap was stuck down on its little holder, but after a bit of water (and a lot of swearing) he pried it free. <em> Now to just </em>… there was no scrub. He’d have to lather his hands. </p><p>Despite how badly everything seemed to be going, he kept a positive mindset. <em> I have a spare set of clothes in my cupboard. They’re clean.  </em></p><p>They weren’t. Not only were they not in the cupboard, but they were on the floor, halfway under his bed, and most definitely <em> not </em> clean. He must have missed them while cleaning. The stupid things didn’t even pass the Sniff Test, so now Peter B was scrabbling around his room and trying to find a clean set. A shirt and pants that didn't even match was all he could come up with. </p><p><em> The universe is so against me today </em> , he thought as he stumbled out of his bedroom. <em> No time for dinner. Gotta get to her place at a reasonable time, right?  </em></p><p>He caught a cab, something he couldn't remember ever doing before. Bought flowers just down the road from her place, took a deep breath and knocked at her front door-</p><p>"Yes?" She was beautiful. That was the first thing he noticed. The second thing he noticed was the baby on her shoulder and the bottle of milk in her hand. </p><p>"Oh." There was nothing to say. <em> Hi, it looks like you've moved on. I'll get going.  </em></p><p>"Peter?" MJ stared at him in disbelief. "Jesus Christ, what… what do you want? Are you drunk?" </p><p>"No, I-" ‘Jesus Christ’, indeed. What <em> did </em> he want? "I'm sorry, MJ, I…" </p><p>"Peter I swear to God if you're drunk right now I'm going to kill you." MJ glared at him and Peter B was painfully reminded of the saying 'if looks could kill'. </p><p>"I'm not drunk. I swear. I was droppin' by to see you and apologise and I wasn't expecting you to have a kid and yeah. That's all." Peter B babbled in a stream of consciousness. </p><p>"Right. You're trying to win me back, huh?" As always, the woman was as sharp as a tac. </p><p>Peter B held the flowers out. "You're already married. I get it. Well, just take these anyway, as a… an apology. For everything." </p><p>"I can't, with the-" MJ bounced the baby to bring it to Peter B's attention. </p><p>"Oh, shit, of course. Yeah. Sorry, I'm- as dumb as ever, I guess." Peter B laughed awkwardly, rubbing his neck. "I'm sorry. Again. For everything. I hope you're happy now, 'cause… you deserve it. After putting up with me all this time." </p><p>"It's fine, Peter. We've both gotta move on with our lives, yeah? I hope you find someone that makes you happy too." MJ said. </p><p>"Yeah." Peter B nodded. "I'll uh… see you 'round." </p><p>MJ closed the door with her foot, leaving Peter B to stand there dejectedly, bouquet of flowers hanging loosely in his fingers. After a moment of silence, he stepped away from the door and left, wondering whether he should call another cab, order a pizza or mope around on the streets. </p><p>Moping around sounded good. Maybe a bad guy would come along and act as a punching bag. </p><p>The whole world sucked and Peter B knew it. Thinking of Miles, he reminded himself it didn't suck <em> too </em>bad, but still. It sucked. Even if there were kids with big hearts and smart, beautiful women and jokes and all that gold stuff. </p><p>The worst part about being a superhero was that you had to see the worst of the world each day. And sure, people could say 'oh, but there's the satisfaction of beating it!' No. There was no satisfaction. The next day a new villain popped up, and another after that. An endless cycle and Peter B found himself at the centre of it all. No one held evil to an expectation, but an average guy who just happened to have unnatural abilities? Oh yeah, all of it could be placed on him. </p><p>Peter B glanced down at the bouquet in his hands. As he passed a trash can, he had half a mind to throw it in, but something stopped him. He walked straight past, head down and feeling shittier than usual. Shittier than he had in a long, <em> long </em> time. Really, just… down in the dumps, if he was being honest with himself. </p><p>It wasn't enough for him to want to go to the bar, but maybe enough for him to visit Aunt May's grave. His heart ached at the thought. She would be the only one to understand him right now, she'd take his hand and pat it and grab him a little sponge cake and tell him to tell her everything. </p><p>He supposed she'd set him up to fail, in her kind ways, making it so that he never wanted to go and see a therapist after she died. He couldn't tell someone else about his life. Especially not if they could give his identity away, just like that. No, when Aunt May died, his confidence in others died with her. That was when he first started drifting from MJ, he remembered. She'd screamed at him about how he ‘never trusted her’ and he'd just listened, didn't interrupt, didn't argue. He knew he was wrong. She'd called him pathetic and stormed out and he'd cried in the bathroom, hiding away in there just in case she came home because then she'd see him crying. Crying was not something superheroes did. </p><p>Sure, he seemed all easy-going and likeable. It all seemed fake to him. Like at any given moment he could just decide to show everyone his true colours, expose how depressed and fucked-up in the head he was. He wouldn't though. He was a superhero. People needed him. </p><p>He turned into an alleyway, mildly expecting some form of confrontation, or for rain to start pouring down. It didn't. He didn't really know if that made him glad or not. His feet keep carrying him along instead. <em>No emotions, no nothing, just the path and your legs.</em> <em>Could do to lose some weight, I guess. </em></p><p>He walked another block, turning into random alleyways, doubling back without a reaction when they turned into dead ends. He'd forgotten what the city was like, too caught up in his own shit to take care of the place like he was supposed to. Walking down another alley, it turned into a dead end. This time he sat with his back against the wall, knees up and the bouquet of flowers hanging loosely between them. After only a couple of minutes, his ass hurt, but this was what he deserved. To sit in pain and wallow in his own misery. </p><p>"Heya, Petey!" A crunch came from in front of him as someone dropped to the ground. "Oh! Are those flowers for me? I didn't know you felt the same!" </p><p>"Hey Wade." Peter B said without looking up. </p><p>"Aw, don't be shy. Show me that pretty little face." He could hear the grin in Wade Wilson's voice. </p><p>Peter B tilted his chin up and let his head fall softly against the brick wall behind him, staring up at Wade. "Better?" </p><p>"Always." His voice sounded sincere, but he had a big, stupid smile on his face. That was different. </p><p>"No costume today?" Peter B asked. </p><p>"Nah. Kinda bad, my balls don't breathe as well in pants." Wade shrugged. "Oh, and, not to mention that fact that everyone keeps staring at me like I've stolen their left kidney." Peter B knew he wasn’t telling him the full-truth, but it sure as hell wasn’t his place to chide Wade for not wanting to tell him everything about himself, especially after all this time. </p><p>"Hey, priorities. The boys have gotta breathe, man." It was a half-hearted effort. The flowers felt heavy in his hand. </p><p>"Are you gonna get up, or am I sucking your dick down there? I dunno if I can get a good angle, but I'll try!" Wade said, entirely serious, in that way he always had when he said something feral. </p><p>Peter B, rather than laughing, shrugged. "If you wanna suck dick, there's that gay bar a couple blocks away." </p><p>"Jesus, you think anyone wants this beautiful face sucking their dick?" Wade pushed with the joke, probably still trying to get a laugh out of Peter B. </p><p>"You'd still have way more fun there than you will with me." Peter B sighed. God, he was getting old. And boring. </p><p>"Nah." Wade sat down in front of him. "What's going on with you, dude? Something get stuck up your ass? If so, you know I'd be more than happy to get it out, right?" </p><p>"We haven't spoken in ages." Peter B stated, not really sure where he was going with the conversation now. </p><p>"Yeah, you went off the radar, man. I figured… well I figured if you wanted me to come get you, you would've told me." It was surprisingly sincere. </p><p>"I'm sorry." Peter B was <em> full </em> of apologies tonight, it seemed. </p><p>"Why're you apologising? Hell, I wouldn't tell myself if I had a problem! Oh, wait…" Wade laughed at himself. </p><p>Peter B held the flowers up a little. "These were for MJ. We uh, got divorced a year ago. I went to her place and… she's already married. Has kids." </p><p>"Oh, so you're a free and eligible bachelor?" Wade asked, completely missing the point, as usual. Peter B laughed quietly. He'd missed this little facáde, the game between the two of them where Wade would purposely misinterpret something and make an insightful comment disguised as a stupid one. </p><p>"Sure." Peter B sighed again. </p><p>"What's with the sudden on-the-radarness?" Wade asked. </p><p>"It's gonna sound so dumb." Peter B shook his head and chuckled at himself. </p><p>"Long story?" Wade asked. </p><p>"Yeah. Like, really long." Peter B rubbed his face and groaned, not even sure where to start. </p><p>"Okay, so, I know there's a gay bar nearby, but if I remember correctly, there's also a really cool diner that sells the greasiest goddamn burgers you've ever seen." Wade said, standing up and holding a hand out to Peter B. "Let's talk over one." </p><p>Peter B took his hand and let Wade pull him up. They walked out onto the street and Peter B realised just how late it was. What the hell had he been doing this whole time? Was he really just moping around for five hours? A billboard on a corner showed the time: past midnight. He wondered what Wade was doing out and about. Probably fighting crime, like <em> he </em> was supposed to be doing. Then again, Wade wasn’t in his suit, so he couldn’t have been chasing criminals, could he? It didn’t matter, he supposed, Wade was out and they were talking like old times. </p><p>The diner was, as Wade had said, cool. It was all very retro 50s, with the red booths and big tables. They sat down and at the smell of burgers frying, Peter B realised just how hungry he was. <em> Maybe skipping dinner wasn’t such a good idea. </em> Wade ordered a round of burgers and fries for the two of them, not even caring about the stunned look the waitress gave him before she hastily scribbled down the order and ran away. She came creeping back with their orders, making sure to stand as close to Peter B as possible, before skirting fully around Wade and giving him a wide berth. If he wasn’t feeling so goddamn miserable, Peter B probably would have laughed. </p><p>They started eating, so Peter B got his shit together and began telling Wade about the past year of his life. Wade was surprisingly quiet, only occasionally interjecting with some form of horrible joke (not all of them dirty, which was also surprising) and listened carefully to Peter B with an indulgent smile on his face. To his credit, he didn’t even look that surprised when Peter B told him about the multiverse thing, nodding along with a look of perfect understanding. </p><p>“You’ve had quite a year then, huh?” Wade observed, throwing a fry into his mouth. </p><p>“Fuck, tell me about it.” Peter B shook his head, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Screw just skipping dinner, he shouldn’t have gone after MJ the first day he was back in his own universe. He should have slept and ate, thought over everything and then gone after her when he’d calmed down a bit. </p><p>“You know what might make you feel better?” Wade asked. </p><p>“Don’t say what I know you’re gonna say.” Peter B stared up at him warily and Wade grinned. </p><p>“Okay, so, maybe you know me too well. I was gonna start with that. Maybe we could skip that part and just straight-up fuck, then?” Wade smirked when Peter B groaned and buried his face in his arms, not wanting to see his stupid grin. “I’m hurt.” </p><p>“I’ll call you when I’m thinking about MJ.” Peter B wondered what Wade would say in response to that. </p><p>“If you did that, I can promise you, you wouldn’t be thinking of her for much longer.” Wade laughed. </p><p>Peter B chuckled as well, looking back up at Wade. “How have things been at your end, anyway? We’ve only talked about me tonight.” </p><p>“Okay, so, before you very rudely interrupted me and prompted that horribly crude joke about us fucking - which I am appalled in you, by the way, inferring that I don’t think of anything but sex - anyway, before that, I was actually gonna say that I killed Hitler.” Wade had been holding a fry in his fingers and jabbing it in Peter B’s direction, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied smile when Peter B’s jaw dropped. </p><p>“You what?” He asked, laughing nervously. He didn’t hear that right, did he? </p><p>“Yeah, I got this time machine and just, like… killed him.” Wade shrugged. “As a baby. So yeah, World War Two still happened, but now we’ve got some other guy to blame. I don’t remember his name, some other German freak that hated Jewish people.” </p><p>“That’s uh, wow.” Peter B nodded, grinning and unsure of what else to say. “I’m impressed? I think? I don’t know. But a time machine?” </p><p>“Yeppers. A fucking time machine.” Wade said. </p><p>“Do you still have it?” Peter B asked. </p><p>“Nah. Sold it on the black market for some pizza.” Wade shrugged nonchalantly. </p><p>Peter B laughed. “You sold a time machine for a pizza? Holy shit.” </p><p>“Hey, it was a good goddamn pizza! Plus, if World War Two could still happen, how much damage can someone do to a timeline?” Wade finished eating, closing his eyes as he ate his last fry. </p><p>“Man.” Peter B sighed and Wade looked at him, curious. “I missed this.” </p><p>“Missed seeing this place? That’s ‘cause you were too busy fighting crime and taking too long because you don’t kill people.” Wade challenged Peter B, baiting him into an argument neither of them would win. </p><p>“No, just hanging out with you.” Peter B ignored him. </p><p>“That sounds kinda gay, man.” Wade said with a wink. </p><p>“I’m serious, Wade.” Peter B couldn’t help smiling at the joke, but he looked Wade in the eyes and forced himself to be sincere. “I like hanging out with you. Even if you’re a bastard murderer.” He couldn’t help himself, and that last part just slipped out so <em> naturally </em>. </p><p>“Oh, fuck’s sake, we were having a moment there!” Wade leaned over the table and punched his arm. </p><p>Peter B laughed, but was interrupted by a yawn. “Man, I’m tired.” </p><p>“Travelling into another dimension might do that.” Wade smirked. “Crash at my place, it’s just a couple blocks away.” </p><p>“You sure? I can call another cab.” Peter B reached to his pocket for his phone. </p><p>“Nah. There’s only one bed though.” Wade winked at him. Peter B knew that already, the idiot just wanted to try and make a joke out of it. </p><p>“Dude, I’m so tired I could sleep here. I don’t give a shit whether there’s one bed or two.” Peter B sighed and stood up, grabbing his credit card from his wallet. </p><p>“No, no, no, I wanna be the man. You can be the lady, I’ll pay.” Wade pulled his own wallet out and before Peter B could protest, he’d leapt over an empty table and was standing at the cash register with cash in hand. </p><p>Peter B almost guffawed when the waitress from before came out of the kitchen and stopped dead at the sight of Wade standing there with a big, silly grin on his face. She scurried over, rang him up and took the money from him cautiously, filing it away and dumping the change hurriedly on the bench, pretending she had another customer as she quickly left the register and darted away without eye contact. </p><p>They left the diner and Wade began talking about his adventures in the past few months animatedly. He said something about a girl being really lucky and a cable tie (or something like that, Peter B’s tired brain couldn’t quite keep up with him) and waved his arms around as he spouted off a bunch of other nonsense. </p><p>Despite how shitty the night had become, Peter B couldn’t help but feel like something was going <em> right </em> for once. Just like Miles had shown him he wanted kids, MJ had shown him he had to move on. And Wade… well, Wade was showing him how far sincerity and friendship could go. Peter B really hadn’t been screwing around when he said he missed him. Maybe Peter B now had new, more family-friendly friends, but Wade had been there since the start and he wouldn’t have traded any of that for the world, even if the dirty jokes were sometimes a little too much. </p><p>As they walked, Peter B could feel like streets becoming familiar again, mapping out slowly in his mind and committing themselves back to his memory. They were almost at Wade’s place, if he remembered correctly. When the building came into view, he knew he had, mentally patting himself on the back. </p><p>Wade’s apartment was very familiar to Peter B, more familiar than he cared to admit. While the mess on the floor <em> looked </em> chaotic, navigating it had become muscle memory and Peter B hopped through it all easily, not even concerned for the million safety hazards an unsheathed katana posed in opposition to his feet. Wade liked to think he was the ultimate embodiment of chaos, but at the end of the day, Peter B found his craziness understandable. </p><p>As Peter B flopped down onto Wade’s bed, he vaguely remembered that he’d left the bouquet of flowers on the table at the diner. <em> I must have looked like Wade’s boyfriend with those </em>, he chuckled to himself. </p><p>Wade came and laid down beside him, shockingly making no sexual comments. It was dumb and selfish, but Peter B was glad to be sleeping next to a warm body for the first time in what felt like forever. He didn’t care about the circumstance, just the knowledge that someone was fine with him being there and wanted him around; that made him happy. </p><p>And so, for the first time in a long time, Peter B fell asleep with a smile on his face. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed! This will become more plot-driven as time goes on, don't worry. </p><p>If you like the Elder Scrolls, feel free to check out my profile for work on there. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Getting Over It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This chapter is just exploring the dynamic of Wade and Peter B through what is mostly dialogue (like that didn't happen in the last chapter, but oh well). </p><p>Also, Peter B was really tired apparently.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I knew I'd end up writing a second chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Peter B Parker woke up with his head resting against the side of Wade Wilson’s ribs. After a second of blinking groggily and rubbing his eyes, he realised a few things at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Firstly, Wade had an arm around him, trailing down his back and resting on his waist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Secondly, it was midmorning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thirdly, he had absolutely nothing to do. No job, or even Spider-related job. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he laid silently, he realised a fourth thing: Wade was pretending to be asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanna do a fake wake up stretch?” Peter B asked, not moving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade was silent, determined to keep up his charade. Determined, at least until Peter B shuffled slightly, making it seem like he was going to get up and walk off. Peter B smirked when Wade pulled him into his side, holding him there closely like he believed Peter B would actually leave when he was this comfy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At what point last night did you decide I looked cold?” Peter B asked, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that.” Wade said, waving him off. At the doubtful look Peter B gave him, he smirked. “Unless I knew you liked it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t answer the question.” Peter B reminded him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About ten minutes after you fell asleep. Nicely done, by the way. You definitely didn’t land on the comfiest part of the bed. Not that you could’ve, because he wasn’t there at that point, but you know.” Wade’s voice was a little rough with sleep and Peter knew he sounded even rougher himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's ten in the morning." Peter B sighed, burying his face into Wade's side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks, Captain Obvious." Wade said cheerily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't believe MJ's already married someone and had kids." Peter B groaned when everything that happened last night came rushing back to him and made the air around him feel as thought it had dropped by a couple degrees. "I mean, I can, because she's so goddamn smart and pretty and whatever, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm all those things and more, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm </span>
  </em>
  <span>not married." Wade patted Peter B's arm in an annoyingly patronising way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, yeah, I wonder why. It's got absolutely nothing to do with your other </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span> qualities, does it?" Peter B asked, though it seemed to come out a little more viciously than he'd originally intended it to. "Sorry, that sounded really mean." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A little. It's okay, I know that deep down you're a huge fucking softie, so I'll let it slide this time." Wade waved his hand vaguely as he spoke, shooing away the apology and letting his arm fall back against his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B groaned again randomly and rolled away from Wade, rubbing his face. "I dunno what to do with myself." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, you could always-" Wade started with a cheery voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No." Peter B moaned. "I'm not doing you sexual favours 'cause I'm feeling useless. I just… I came back here with so many plans and I didn't count on them falling through and now I just feel like a bigger idiot than usual." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I would reassure you and say you're not an idiot, but you know how I feel about lying. Don't you, Petey?" Wade sat up and looked down at Peter B with a big, stupid smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not helping." Peter B sat up as well and got off the bed, standing to stretch his arms as far above his head as he could with several satisfying cracks and pops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know I say it all with love." Wade winked at him over his shoulder as he walked off into the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B realised then that he probably stank. He hadn't had a proper shower in days (he'd felt bad using that other dimension's Aunt May's and his own shower the day before had been a fucking land mine of slipperiness) and was in desperate need of one now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wade, can I use your shower? Please?" Peter B called from the bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, sure." That was a surprisingly normal answer, so Peter B stood and waited. "You know you can. Are you asking 'cause you want me to join you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No." That's the kind of response Peter B had been waiting for. "I'll call you if I can't quite reach a spot, though." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, please do!" Wade sounded way too excited about that prospect for Peter B's liking, but he needed to take a goddamn shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a minute of rummaging around in the cabinet under the bathroom basin, shoving aside bottles upon bottles of lube and other strange, probably sex-related knickknacks, Peter B found the face washer he was looking for. It was a stupid thing with a Spiderman logo on and he kind of hated it, but Wade had bought it for him and he’d never had the heart to throw it out, especially when Wade was letting him crash at his place as often as he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned the water hot in the shower and quickly stripped off while he waited for it to heat up. Testing the water with his toes (even though he didn’t need to, because he remembered the exact way to position the faucets) he stepped in and sighed as the water bombarded his skin. Scrabbling around, he grabbed the bar of soap that sat on the shower rack and rubbed it against the face washer, glad he wouldn’t have to use his hands this time. When he’d finished scrubbing himself off, he grabbed the bottle of shampoo - Spiderman brand, of course - that Wade had bought and kept especially for him (since he obviously couldn’t use it himself) dragging his fingers through his hair roughly and cleaning it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A part of him was waiting for Wade to find a reason to come barging in, like he usually did. Unfortunately in past times, his spidey sense hadn’t seemed to kick in for things like Wade’s invasion of his personal space, so he was constantly waiting to hear something that would give the other man away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>on alert, however, when he was drying himself off and had thrown his towel on the ground, reaching for his clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, usually, when I come in you’re trying your best to cover-up, not show me more!” Wade exclaimed from behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B froze, then sighed and continued to grab his stuff from the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes I forget just how much you’re packing, baby boy! Surely you have to have your pants specially tailored to fit around all that cake,” Wade teased. “Shit. These underwear I got you might not even fit. That’d be a real shame now, wouldn’t it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Peter B turned around, holding his pants in front of his junk so that Wade couldn’t see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade held up a packet of underwear. They had the Spiderman logo on them. “I saw these. Thought you might like them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it with you and Spiderman stuff?” Peter B sighed, taking the packet from him anyway. “Holy shit, these are actually for adults?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Last packet, too. I have a feeling you might be a little more popular than you think.” Wade winked at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Christ's sake, Wade. You're obsessed with me." Peter B shook his head as he stared absently at the packet of underwear in his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kinda hard not to be, with a hot bod like yours." Wade tilted his head sideways, taking a deep sniff through his nose. "Oh! I think my pancakes are ready!" He ran off back to the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B looked at his discarded underwear on the floor, then back to the packet in his hand as he debated what to do. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dirty underwear, or Wade's dumbass Spidey ones? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Groaning, he ripped open the packet and pulled out a clean pair of underwear with a picture of his mask sitting on the crotch area. He tried in vain to rid his mind of the imagery of hundreds of other men with his face on their junk, but to no avail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you put on the spidey underwear?" Wade asked excitedly when Peter B came out of the bathroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B just glared at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did they fit?" Wade asked, not deterred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B sat down at the dining table, hiding his red face before Wade could catch a glimpse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jesus, I thought I had your ass mapped out perfectly! It must have only gotten more luscious since I last saw you." Peter B could hear clattering as Wade dished up pancakes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Or I've just gotten fat." Peter B sighed. He had to admit it to himself, there was no point in joking around about it or denying it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're not fat. Dad bods are hot as hell." Wade put a plate down in front of Peter B's arms and sat down opposite him with his own plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B regarded him with narrowed eyes. "I don't feel hot." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pancakes were overkill. Wade had stacked them up with fruit, maple syrup and ice cream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know you're Canadian," Peter B poked at the stack with his fork, watching as the pancakes oozed, "but isn't this way too much maple syrup?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I thought I was being moderate." Wade said with a sheepish smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B looked over at his plate. The pancakes at the bottom of the stack were practically swimming in maple syrup, the very bottom one fully submerged in the puddle of gold. "Okay, I won't complain anymore." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can make more if you want," Wade offered with a shrug, "but it'll cost you something," he added with a wink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, this is good. I'm good." Peter B dug in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aw, that's too bad. I like cooking for my favourite man." Wade pouted, shoving a ridiculously large mouthful in and moaning. "Oh man. I haven't had pancakes in forever and that hit the </span>
  <em>
    <span>spot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>spot</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Quickest way to your heart is with pancakes that have too much maple syrup?" Peter B asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh yeah." Wade moaned again at the second mouthful, though not as loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn't really talk after that, but it was mostly because Wade was too busy enjoying his pancakes, still moaning occasionally when he shoved a particularly soaked piece in his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After finishing and cleaning up, Wade asked Peter B if he wanted to watch a movie. After he sat on the couch and watched Wade put on a romance, he mildly regretted agreeing. The entire movie, Wade offered a running commentary, with exclamations like, "oh, she's gonna suck his dick, isn't she?" and "oh man, he just fucked up big time." Peter B tried his best to ignore him, but he couldn't help it when he burst out laughing a couple times, only to get chided by Wade for not taking the movie seriously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next thing Wade put on was true crime, which Peter B was mildly surprised by. Well, until Wade opened his stupid fucking mouth and started 'predicting' everything that was going to happen: "it's the dad, it has to be," and "oh it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>the dad, I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> wrong." It turned out it was the younger stepbrother who murdered the grandma. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B fell asleep halfway through the second documentary. When he woke up, his head was resting on Wade's thigh and the other man was </span>
  <em>
    <span>oohing</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>aahing</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the TV. Groggily rubbing his eyes, he realised it was that seahorse documentary that he'd been obsessed with a couple weeks ago. He went back to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey Sunshine, you feel like dinner?" Wade was shaking his shoulder gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Peter B's eyes snapped open and he sat up. "Uh, yeah. What?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You want dinner? Or you wanna keep sleeping?" Wade asked. "I was gonna go out for a bit and bring something back." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh. Uh, yeah. You want me to come with?" Peter B asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure. Come on." Wade stood up and offered his hand to Peter B, pulling him up from the couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yawning, Peter B followed him out of the apartment onto the street. They walked along for a while as Peter B shook off the last remnants of sleep, tousling his hair and stretching his arms up; bumping into someone random was the last thing his tired mind wanted to deal with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ended up at a little kebab place on a corner. Wade quietly advised Peter B to order anything that didn't have chicken in it, so as not to run the risk of getting food poisoning. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Very reassuring</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Peter B thought as he looked at the menu on the wall above. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an excited exclamation, Wade interrupted his train of thought and pointed out one thing on the menu in particular. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"H.S.P.?" Peter B read out. "What does that stand for?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I dunno. Tastes fucking good, though." Wade grinned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay?" Peter B wasn't sure what to make of it. The picture just looked like a box of stripped meat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Share one with me? You won't regret it, I promise." Wade looked at him with what was probably supposed to be puppy eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I guess." Peter B shrugged, still a little cautious. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell does it stand for? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade ordered one with lamb as the meat. He turned to Peter B. "You still like garlic and sweet chilli sauce, right?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B nodded and Wade turned back to the guy serving him with a grin. They seemed like buddies, or at least this dude had no qualms with Wade's appearance whatsoever. The guy gave Peter B the once-over when Wade murmured something to him, then turned back to Wade with a smirk. They were talking to each other very quietly, finishing the conversation with a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What was that about?" Peter B asked when Wade came to stand next to him and wait for their food. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"His sister got a boyfriend yesterday. We're planning on getting his details so we can check him out." Wade answered easily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure she'd appreciate that." Peter B said dryly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, given that her last one was a child trafficker, probably." Wade shrugged, speaking as though he was entirely indifferent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the fuck?" Peter B asked in disbelief. "How…? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Man</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'How' what?" Wade turned to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I dunno how you deal with that kinda shit every day." Peter B shook his head, chucking wryly. “I get antsy over the fucking robberies nowadays.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The pay’s kinda worth it. Most of the time.” Wade stepped forward to grab their order when it was called. The guy who he was talking to before gave Peter B one last look-over, nodding his head firmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell is all this about?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter B tore his eyes away as he followed Wade. “Why did that guy keep looking at me weird?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” Wade glanced at him, but kept striding along. “Oh! Yusuf? I told him you were my date.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Peter B asked, fighting the urge to sigh loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seemed funny, I dunno.” Wade answered dismissively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that sounds perfectly reasonable.” Peter B muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I thought too!” Wade sounded way too cheerful and it reminded Peter B of how much annoyed rage this idiot used to send him into back in the day, to a point where he’d just </span>
  <em>
    <span>thwip</span>
  </em>
  <span> away and hope Wade chose not to follow him. They seemed so young then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was twenty-two years ago, Peter B became Spiderman. Twenty-</span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> years, he met Deadpool. Eighteen, he met Wade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Popular belief and media input led to many civilians believing Deadpool and Spiderman were frenemies, allies who hated each other’s methods. And sure, Peter B didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> the idea of killing another human being, but he understood why Wade did it. Spiderman didn’t kill because he didn’t have to. He dealt with small-time crims for the hell of it, unlike Deadpool, who was paid to get rid of terrible people that didn’t deserve to live: human traffickers, serial rapists and murderers. A bounty might not have been the best way to take these people out, but sometimes it was the only option, the only way to bring someone justice for their crimes and truly put an end to them ruining more lives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the difference in their methods and pursuits, Deadpool and Spiderman became quick friends. Wade and Peter B were even quicker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B couldn’t help himself. He liked Wade’s foul mouth, found him funny even if others were disgusted. Even when </span>
  <em>
    <span>MJ</span>
  </em>
  <span> was disgusted, telling him she didn’t like the people he’d hang out with. She’d never really understood what it was like for him, trying to find friends and never really being able to keep them because he was always too </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like nerdy or emotionally crippled or sarcastic. Hanging out with Wade helped him forget all that for a while, because Wade just liked </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or pretended to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the years went on, they started hanging out more. Wade was there for him when Aunt May died, let Peter B lie on his apartment floor for hours as he went about doing things chattering and paying no attention to Peter B’s silence. Peter B never blamed MJ for not being there for him. It was his own fault for not reaching out to her and asking her for help, but she’d thought he did blame her. The fact that he was depending more on Wade’s support than her own didn’t help, but he’d been so lost after May died, didn’t know how he was supposed to behave, if he could cry around her or if he had to hold it all in, act like he was okay so that he didn’t worry her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was when they first started </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> fighting. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No chance of that anymore, huh? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He shook off his thoughts and kept walking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They got back to the apartment and Wade handed Peter B a fork, throwing himself down on the couch and dumping the H.S.P. box in the middle, patting a spot for Peter B to sit on. Cautious, Peter B speared a bit of the brown meat and popped it in his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the shit?” It was delicious. The garlic sauce was perfect and the sweet chilli was that right kind of spicy, a light burn on the tongue but with a sweet aftertaste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like two dicks at once.” Wade said with a completely serious expression, nodding slowly as he chewed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three.” Peter B shoved a forkful in his gob. “Maybe four.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you’d know how that feels.” Wade shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B gave him a wide-eyed and caught-out look as he froze mid-bite. Wade laughed at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Holy fucking shit." Peter B beheld his fork in front of his eye. "There's fries in this too?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, not fries. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Chips</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I dunno, this thing's Australian or something and that's what they call them over there. They're like the B.B.C. of fries." Wade explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The B.B.C. of fries? What? What does that stand for?" Peter B tried to run through random B words. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"What if I told you it was a category on porn sites?" That did the opposite of help. "Super famous." That was even less helpful. "Christ, you're innocent. Big Black Cock, bub. Australian chips are the Big Black Cock of fries." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course. Man, all your obscure references to porn make so much sense." Peter B said, nodding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course they do. I'm an expert." Wade picked up the TV remote and flicked on another true crime show. “Oh, Serial Killer Sunday! I love these!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that an actual thing?” Peter B asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it was an actual thing, I would’ve said it in italics,” Wade waved him off, “they call it some boring name, like ‘this guy stabbed his ex, yadda yadda’.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, that sounds really fucking boring. They’re killers, they don’t get nice names. Why do you think your mother named you Wade?” Peter B smirked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay bub, if we’re about to argue over names, what about MJ calling you fucking ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>honey</span>
  </em>
  <span>’? That’s gotta be the most boring pet name ever. ‘Shithead’ would have been more creative.” Wade pointed his fork at random things emphatically as he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like you don’t have to worry about her boringness anymore, bud. Unless you’re friends with her new husband too?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, that hurt to say. Gotta stop joking about serious shit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade shrugged. “He seems okay, but his ass has got nothing on yours. I can’t believe MJ never pegged you, what a fucking waste.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s normal, unlike you.” Peter B reminded him helpfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you would’ve let her do it if she wasn’t?” Wade asked, voice hopeful. “That’d be a sight to fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d be happy just watching?” Peter B egged him on. Why, he wasn’t sure. Sometimes it was funny to see Wade all worked up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m sure MJ wouldn’t consent to me participating, and as we both know, I’m no criminal, right?” Wade grinned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what the last guy you got paid to murder said.” Peter B shoved food in his mouth to keep himself from smiling, but failed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck you, seriously.” He scoffed and paused. “If you let me.” Wade’s forehead moved a little and Peter B assumed it was his attempt at wiggling his non-existent eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get your mind outta the gutter, pal.” Peter B shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me to put it in yours instead?” Wade asked sweetly. It was a terrible comeback, although for the sake of wanting to eat his food in peace, Peter B just shook his head again - more solemnly this time - and ignored him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They kept eating and watching more shows, though Wade quickly got bored of crime and switched over to some old 80s sitcom. The only reason either of them laughed is because they insulted everyone who came on screen and ripped apart any ‘jokes’ being told with the viciousness of two teenagers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At one point, Wade went off to take a phone call. Without anyone there to pick on the show, Peter B got bored, slumped over the arm of the couch and fell asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He woke up on Wade's bed in the middle of the night. Shockingly, Wade was not curled up against him, but as Peter B regained consciousness, he realised that it was probably because Wade wasn't even in the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rubbing his eyes, he got out of the bed and went to grab a glass of water. The Spiderman underwear were annoying him more than Wade's incessant chatter on a Sunday morning, and he sighed as he pulled a wedgie out of his ass for what felt the twentieth time that day. His fuzzy mind prickled a little with spidey sense as a soft noise came from behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, you make a cute face when you pull out a wedgie. Maybe I should buy underwear that are too small more often, huh?" Wade said as Peter B spun around to face him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Keep it in your pants." Peter B drained the glass of water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can see you're struggling with that concept." Wade winked, sitting down at a kitchen stool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Peter B looked down at his junk, trying to figure out what the hell Wade was on about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Haha, made you look!" Wade grinned impishly. Judging from the way his shoulders were swaying slightly, Peter B could tell he was swinging his legs like a little kid while he sat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B got another glass of water, stopping abruptly before it reached his lips. "Did you take my pants off?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, yeah. I know you prefer sleeping with 'em off, so…" Wade's grin was replaced by a small, knowing smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B </span>
  <em>
    <span>humphed</span>
  </em>
  <span> in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What woke you up, anyway? You cold without me?" Wade leaned his elbows onto the kitchen bench, cupping his face in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I dunno. Thirsty, I guess." Peter B shrugged. He rolled his eyes at Wade's evil grin. "Not that way." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Baby boy, you know you only gotta say the word and I'm ready, right?" Wade was screwing with him now. Peter B didn't even feel like responding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why do you call me 'baby boy'?" He asked instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a cute name. And you're cute. Would you prefer 'shitlips' or something?" Wade sounded indifferent, but there was something missing. There was always this specific </span>
  <em>
    <span>tone </span>
  </em>
  <span>when he said 'baby boy', this crooning, loving voice, like it was more than just a name to him and instead an endearment, or at least something of the sort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B shook his head. "It's okay. Might start calling you that, though." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> far. You can call me 'butterface', you can call me 'millennial smashed avocado' but you can</span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> call me 'shitlips'. I'm not fucking having it, bub." Wade shook his head and crossed his arms with mock anger, but Peter B could tell his feet were still swinging around, completely ruining Wade's positively </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrifying</span>
  </em>
  <span> demeanour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wouldn't call you either of those." Peter B said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'd never call you something like that. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're too good to me. You know that, right?" Wade swooned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know I'd never do that, right? I'm being serious." Peter B ignored the theatrics. Which, admittedly, was difficult, because Wade Wilson, if anything, was a sucker for performing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I mean, I wouldn't care if you did. Kinda crazy you even hang out with me, most days." Wade shrugged as if it didn't bother him in the slightest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know how </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>put up with </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>most days." Peter B rinsed the glass of water out and left it on the drying rack beside the sink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have you seen that ass? I'd be a fucking idiot </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to keep you around." Wade grinned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B laughed and headed back toward the bedroom. "I'm going back to bed. You coming?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've gotta go out for a bit. Got hit up for a job." Wade hopped down from his stool. "I'll be back in a couple days, I think." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh. Okay." Peter B nodded, feeling stupid. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That's what you should be doing, idiot. Your fucking job. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know it's kinda sudden. Wease rang me just then, said it's pretty urgent. I've got a couple days, but I just wanna get this shit done with, you know? Before it gets outta hand." Wade picked up his gear from the floor as he spoke, piling it all onto the kitchen bench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I get it. Have fun, I guess." Peter B said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, it's going to be a shitload of fun. So fun." Wade sighed and rubbed his face. "Goodnight, baby boy. Sleep well. Don't get into too much trouble without me, okay?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Goodnight." Peter B flopped down on Wade's bed, listening as Wade fiddled around with his things in the kitchen, muttering to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The front door clicked as it opened and closed, drenching the apartment in silence. Feeling tired, Peter B pulled the bedsheets to his waist and fell asleep. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>These two are way too much fun to write. I don't know who gave them permission to plague me like this, but you've done a good job of it. </p><p>I don't know if anyone else sees it and I might be going crazy: Wade doing really Canadian things? Just grossly Canadian things that are absolutely ridiculous, but he doesn't even do them ironically, he takes it all very seriously and doesn't even realise how stereotypical he can be? Maybe it's just me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. An Empty Void</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Poor Peter B.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There's a warning for this chapter in the end author notes, so scroll down if you may be triggered by anything. I've done this so the chapter isn't unintentionally spoiled for other readers who don't mind more mature and/or triggering themes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>With Wade gone, Peter B felt like he should probably go home. He got dressed and left a note, grabbing a bacon breakfast roll on his way home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The streets were busy, like the New York streets always were. Looking around, Peter B felt like that pit of sadness (or whatever the hell it was) that'd kept him in his apartment for months had made it so that the world decided to move on without him. Everything seemed to have changed; the billboards, the sounds, the people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling anxious and jittery, he hurried home and hoped there was no trouble along the way. It was no joke, what he'd said to Wade about being stressed out by stuff as small as robberies. Problems like that seemed to start small, but Peter B had dealt with enough of them to know he had to be cautious and open to change at any given moment. It was all good and well to patrol the streets and save people; it was another thing to know who really needed </span>
  <em>
    <span>saving</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Peter B had fucked up that judgement more times than he could count. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was one time in particular he'd fucked up and since then, he'd never forgotten it. It was early in his Spider-man days, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just get home, man, we don't have time to think about shit like this. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When he first walked into his apartment, he forgot what he’d done the other day and thought the place had been robbed. Everything was clean and neat and in place, a sight he was entirely unused to and was, quite frankly, unsettled by. He flopped down on the couch and flicked on the TV immediately, staring at the screen with empty eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>MJ didn't love him. Hell, she was in love with a different guy, as far away from loving </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> she could get! Someone who was probably a genuinely good person, who was a great dad to his kids, was funny and attractive. Everything he wasn't, basically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B was still in love with her, or he thought he was. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Was I just trying to manipulate her, get her back in my life? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He couldn't put the thought past himself; he'd manipulated her into staying in the relationship all those years. All those fights and tears, and effort to keep her in his life. She was right to leave him in the end and to stay away now, to find another guy so that she didn't have to give Peter B what would be his millionth chance to win her back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was all alone, and he deserved it. He deserved every bit of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I could eat my feelings. Or get my shit together. Or just go to bed and stay there. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That last option seemed particularly inviting as he looked to the door of his bedroom and the darkness lurking inside. It seemed all too comforting to wander in and flop down, pull the blankets over himself and lie there, to never get up again, no matter what happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing up, Peter B switched the TV off and went over to the kitchen, turning the radio on. It was on some talk show run by old, over-opinionated people, so he left it on and pretended it was someone else actually talking to him. The world felt a little less lonely that way, if there was another voice echoing through the house while he laid in bed. That was all false, of course, but he’d done it before when he was sad and he was fine to do it again now, even if it meant something as depressing as fake company. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking away from the radio and into his bedroom felt like entering a void. Even the sound of the angry voices from the kitchen couldn’t pierce through the thick silence of the room. Flopping down on his bed, Peter B sighed and spread his arms out, closing his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is more comfortable than it should be</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He forgot what happened next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t been sleeping, which was what he originally thought he’d been doing, but he hadn’t been thinking, either. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did I really just lie there for five hours? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The clock on the radio (which was still on, because Peter was still trying to convince himself that it was helping with the loneliness) said ‘yes’. He went to bed at nine in the morning and it was now two in the afternoon. Five whole hours and he couldn’t remember what he was doing for even one of them.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the time, he didn’t feel hungry. There was an emptiness gnawing away at his insides, sure, but hunger? Not quite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His whole body felt weak and tired. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I was in bed for five hours, what the hell?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Everything in him screamed to go back to bed, so he gave up and went along with it, letting his legs carry him there. He threw himself down again and settled in, this time drifting off to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade had been gone for two-and-a-half weeks now, and Peter B had spent most of that time sleeping on the couch or lying in bed. He hadn’t showered in a week, hadn’t brushed his hair and barely ate. There was nothing to do but wallow in his non-feeling feelings, this emptiness that bit at his brain and swallowed it slowly as he withered away and deteriorated, wondering when he’d start feeling emotions again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking wasn’t a priority; no coherent thoughts had come to him in his numb state. Sometimes he’d wonder something, then lose it midway and give up on getting it back, accepting the fact that he was probably dying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last time he was like this - it hadn’t been as bad, but it was kind of similar - he’d pulled out. Gotten his shit together and done stuff, had still managed to shower and look after himself, even if it meant he was overeating and crying. This was different, though. Even if he wasn’t feeling sad, it felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse</span>
  </em>
  <span> because he wasn’t feeling anything at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B never thought he’d miss having emotions. Not because of toxic masculine reasons (maybe they contributed) but because he was a hero and heroes had to soldier-on, to put their own wellbeing aside for others and to push through their issues because people relied on </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not the other way around. A whole city, one of the biggest in the western world, relied on him, and only him, to save it, so he had to save himself when he had a problem. Lately, that had become a real dilemma to him, since he had no will to help himself or anyone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he couldn’t help anyone else… he’d lost his identity. He wasn’t a hero, wasn’t Spider-man, so who the hell was he? A lowlife with nothing better to do than pity himself, to wallow in his own ‘precious’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was why he hated being emotional. Everything turned to shit the moment he started thinking for himself, the second he tried to interfere and change his personal life. That was why he’d given up on taking care of himself; if he screwed up every other time he tried to do anything for himself, why bother at all? It seemed a decent philosophy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B sat on the couch and stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he should get up and stretch his back or close his eyes and fall asleep. He chose to do neither, sitting completely still and silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time went by in a blur and it was dark outside now. Soft, pattering rain startled Peter B out of his trance and he jolted up, blinked a few times and wandered over to the window. The sky looked cloudy and angry, not moving quickly. A storm was brewing, one that would hang around for a while, possibly even several hours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clicking the window out of place and lifting it up, Peter B crawled out and onto the fire escape, sitting on the steep stairway. Cold rain came down in waves, splattering on him and the metal around him. Closing his eyes, he focused on the tinny sound of the water, lulled into its rhythm and allowing his mind to be consumed by the repetitiveness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rain had always been peaceful. Back in his early days of Spider-man, when Peter B felt overwhelmed, he’d go and sit on a rooftop and hope it would start raining. When it did, he’d take off his mask for a few precious seconds and let the rain hit his face, then put it back on and sit for as long as he was able; until there was a crime nearby, or MJ rang him and asked where he was. Even when he was young, he’d ask Uncle Ben if he could sit in the attic and open the window while it rained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thunder and lightning came down with the rain, but Peter B wasn’t worried. The world would probably be better off if he got electrocuted, anyway. Dogs howled in the street, apparently in disagreement with Peter B’s love of the weather, while birds took to the ground and hid away, fluffing out their feathers as they strutted along. People strolled down the streets below, obscured by umbrellas that were all different colours and shapes, some housing several people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours went by and the rain let up, clouds clearing away to reveal a ink-black night sky, the darkness not pierced by a single light, not even a helicopter or plane. Highrises and apartment blocks made the moon impossible to see, not allowing its silver beam to touch the earth. Only streetlights gave any sight to those wandering around, their yellow rays like that of the sun. The warm mood of the lighting was misleading, juxtaposed by the cold, dark dampness of the air and the ground, the matte black bitumen swallowing all the light that touched it, as if a hungry void. Metaphorically speaking, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> hungry. Roads were laid in the ground all over the land, touching almost every corner of it, one of the biggest takers and consumers of life to exist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B had saved many people from the wreckages of car accidents. He’d saved Aunt May once. She was driving home late one snowy night and he was sitting beside her in the passenger seat. They got rear ended by a truck that had skidded on the icy road and Aunt May was thrown forward in her seat, her head slamming into the steering wheel and knocking her unconscious. Peter B had gotten out of the car and ran around to her side, prised the door open and lifted her out of the seat, carrying her over to the sidepath and laying her down gently, calling Uncle Ben before he even considered speaking to the driver of the truck. It had been a blur in his mind, but he’d saved her life that night, according to doctors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clothes sticking to his body and clinging against his skin, Peter B got off the stairs of the fire escape, wincing at the pain in his ass and back. Logic told him anyone would be in pain after sitting for so long in such an uncomfortable position, but he convinced himself he was in pain because he was getting old and fat. He deserved to be in pain, anyway. It made him feel something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air in the apartment felt cold and stale, so Peter grabbed a blanket and pillow, then sat in front of his still-open window. Leaning his back against the wall and pulling the blanket tightly around his body, he fell asleep, feeling at ease with the after-effects of the rain, the way the gutter at the top of the apartment block leaked, the way the fire escape railings dripped with water, the way cars drove on the road below and splattered through puddles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t notice in the moment, but grabbing a blanket and a pillow was a way of looking after himself. While it would take a long time to get out of this emotionless funk, he’d taken a step forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, as Aunt May used to say to him: ‘you can’t take </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> steps without taking </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> first.’ </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warning: This chapter contains depictions of mental health issues, however portrayed in a particularly toxic mindset. If at any point you feel distressed by this, please stop reading. Read at your own discretion. </p><p> </p><p>General notes: I'm writing based on actual experiences by me/my friends/my family, so I hope this is seen as realistic by my readers. Despite this, feel free to let me know if I have gotten anything harmfully incorrect, as I don't want to portray anything that will hurt anyone, especially suffers of mental illness. </p><p>On a lighter (poor choice of wording, maybe... different?) note, perhaps soon we'll find out what happened that time Peter B fucked up his judgement of a crime...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Sitting Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wade's side of the story? And his thought bubbles? This could get chaotic.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Wade Wilson had been on this mission for eighteen days, and holy fuck-a-moly, was he done. Physically done, he’d completed the contract with a neat decapitation, but also mentally done because it was so fucking draining hunting down some pansy-ass shitheads for days on end in another dimension. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not to mention his favourite piece of ass, Mr Peter B. Parker, wasn't around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt good to finally be back in his own dimension, grabbing his paycheck from Weasle (the asshole) and now he was skipping down the street back to his apartment, wondering if Spidey would be hanging around there still with that sweet ass of his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was not. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Probably a good thing. You're covered in blood, moron. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">Yeah, Hotstuff doesn't like it when you come back from missions with blood on you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No one likes it when their bestie comes back from something covered in blood." Wade sighed, tossing his gear in a pile on the floor and hopping through the other piles of crap. Given how much blood was on him, it'd be a good idea to take a shower and then get something to eat. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Like Cutie's ass? </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">OMG! Yes! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Cutie</span>
  </em>
  <span> is going through something right now. I can joke about that shit, but come on guys, I'm not gonna take advantage of him like that." Wade hopped into the shower and turned the water on. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Sniff his face washer! </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Ew… but do it anyway. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade ignored them. Sure, the moment he had the tiniest inkling of a crush on Spidey, the dumbass voices in his head decided that it was their time to </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> start talking to him. All. The. Fucking. Time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After getting out of the shower and drying himself off, Wade debated what to do next. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eat or find Petey? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He thought, then asked out loud. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Find Cutie, eat his ass. We've been over this. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>He regretted asking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">What if Hotstuff is hurt? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you mean, 'what if he's hurt'? What're you saying?" Wade asked sharply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">What if he's sad and hurt himself? </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Jesus fucking Christ. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>"Peter wouldn't do that, bud. He's just upset, we don't have to worry." </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do we? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade went to the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat. There were a few flavoured condoms in one drawer, but other than that, nothing. On the bench was a note. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'</span>
  <em>
    <span>I had a great time last night ;) </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I didn't get kidnapped or anything, I just went home. Didn't know how long you'd be gone' </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade folded the paper and left it on the corner of the bench. Relief washed over him at the thought of Petey being safe at home, not trapped in someone's basement. Worry pricked up again, however, at the thought of him being home by himself during what was probably a really fucking hard part of his life. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nah, he’ll be fine.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Walking into his bedroom, Wade grinned. Petey had cleaned it while he was away, folding all his clothes and leaving them in a neat pile in the corner, with the bed made up nice and the take-out containers gone. Sorting through the clothes piles, Wade pulled out a hoodie and some pants; ever since he started going out maskless more often, they'd become his standard clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade grabbed food to take to Petey's on the way, ignoring the horrified looks people gave him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">That person just made vomiting faces at us. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>I'd vomit too, if I had a face like that. They're standing in solidarity. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade was caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to tell them both to shut the fuck up. A group of teenagers walked past him, so he settled for neither. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd forgotten how far away Petey lived from him. What would have been a half-hour drive was a forty-five minute walk, then give or take a few minutes for people to act like fucking idiots and bump into you. Today, Wade must have had a 'hit me' sign taped to his back because it seemed like every human being to exist on Earth was slamming into his shoulder without so much as a nod of acknowledgement, let alone an apology. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking the stairs two at a time, Wade bounded up to Petey's apartment. He knocked on the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Maybe he's in the shower. Go check! </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">He might be sleeping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade didn't have a spare key on him to get into the apartment. He looked over to the left to see an open window. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Perfect. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning out of the window, Wade planned his climb in his head. He could jump from one window to another, over to the fire escape and through the open window there. He threw the bag of food onto the fire escape platform, climbed out of the window and leapt gracefully to one of the windows, swearing loudly when he almost missed the handhold of the windowsill. He jumped across to the other window, then to the fire escape, climbing over the railing and landing with clanging feet. The bag of food was perfectly fine, so he picked it up and tossed it through the open apartment window, climbing in after it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The apartment was dark. The windows let through a very suffocated light, but other than that, no lights, or even any electronics were on. Wade let his eyes adjust for a few seconds, flicking his head around and trying to see if he could spot a sign of life somewhere. His gaze fell on the lounge area floor, between the couch and TV. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Petey?" Wade crept over to the lump under the blanket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wade?" Petey's head appeared from under the blankets and he stared up at Wade with bloodshot-looking eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What're you doing down there?" Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hanging out." Petey shrugged. "How'd your job go?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Boring and shitty." Wade sighed, walking back to where he'd dumped the bag of food. "I got lunch, if you want some." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey looked hopeful, but sighed like it didn't bother him. “If there’s some there. Don’t worry, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course there’s some there.” It came out way too softly, like they were married or something. “For my bestest bud!” That sounded like he was trying too hard to be happy, but at least it was better than sounding like he was hopelessly in love with a dude who just got rejected by the woman he’d been in love with his whole life. Because Wade was definitely not in love with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something was horribly wrong with Petey. Wade could tell, because usually Petey would sigh when he said something stupidly enthusiastic in that </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> he always did. The ‘keep talking, but please also shut the fuck up’ kind of way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because something was wrong, Wade - very intelligently - dished up a plate of rice for Petey and one for himself, put them on the floor and sat beside Petey, only to ask, “So, what’s up your butt?” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Nice going, dickweed. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <em>
      <span>Very</span>
    </em>
    <span> clever. We’re </span>
    <em>
      <span>so</span>
    </em>
    <span> getting answers.</span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.” Petey muttered, poking at his food cautiously with his fork. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You normally sit on the ground, huddled in a blanket?” Wade asked. “I gotta be honest, I’ve never seen you do that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never felt this shitty, so that’s not surprising.” Petey still hadn’t started eating, so Wade stopped scoffing his own down; finishing your food before someone else did and then talking to them as they were trying to eat was pretty fucking awkward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you feeling sick?" Wade pressed his hand to Petey's forehead before he even got an answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">We're touching him! </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Now kiss him. And then fuck. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm fine, Wade." Petey didn't move, not even reaching up to brush Wade's hand away. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Be reasonable, don't scare him off. </span>
  </em>
  <span>"I don't think that's true, but you don't have to tell me if you don't want to." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't." It wasn't vicious or meanly blunt, but its simplicity still hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade nodded. Maybe Petey wanted to listen to one of his stories. He usually liked to, when he was sad. He liked to listen to them when happy, too. "You know, I saw an alternate version of me while I was away." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh?" Petey played along half-heartedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. Big, ugly bastard. Nothing like me, obviously." Wade smirked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Obviously." Petey nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Unfortunately, 'cause he's me, I couldn't kill him, so I guess their universe is suffering just as much as this one." Wade tittered and shook his head like it bothered him significantly, like it kept him awake late into the night and fucked with his head during his every waking hour. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm a world-class actor. I should be in a movie. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"At least his Spider-man has someone." Petey finally started eating. His chewing was slow and absent as he stared off into empty space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is that your way of saying 'I love you'? How cute. Holy shit, our fans are totally gonna start using that with their loved ones!" Wade squealed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Please say you love us, Hotstuff. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Even if you don't love Wade, you gotta admit you love his cock. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't think we have fans, Wade." Petey said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure we do! People aren't making Spidey underwear because they don't love Spider-man. And people aren't tweeting things like 'holy fuck, DP is the sexiest man alive' for no reason." Wade said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right." A ghost of a smile had made its way to Petey's lips for the first time since they'd started speaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>He's smiling! He's so cute! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You reckon he'd smile like that if he rode you? </b>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck! I just remembered: I got you a present when I was gone." Wade held a finger up in a silencing gesture (not that Petey was talking) and pretended to think hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please don't make it a dick-in-a-box again." Petey groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>No, just put it straight in his mouth this time! </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>He went so red when we did the box that Christmas! MJ was pretty mad about that. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, no, no, I'm… what was it?" Wade had genuinely forgotten, too caught up in his theatrics to remember what it was he even planned on giving Petey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Spider-man brand lube, or spider flavoured condoms?" Petey suggested tiredly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are these birthday present suggestions?" Wade asked with an excited grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Christ, no." Petey chuckled softly, making Wade strain to hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Something's wrong with Hotstuff. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>What the fuck would a spider flavoured condom taste like? </b>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't remember what it was. What the fuck?" Wade thought. “Oh… It wasn’t a present for you, it was a present I bought myself and I just wanted to show it to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t make me any less nervous.” He certainly didn’t look nervous, he looked sad. Like he needed a big squeezy cuddle from his bestest friend in the universes, the one and only (not really), Wade Winston Wilson. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll hug the fuck out of him in a minute.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Wade reached into his pocket, withdrawing his hand slowly. “Babe, I know it’s gonna be your first time, but you don’t need to be nervous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey shook his head tiredly, watching with a raised eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>OMG, I forgot how cute the eyebrow thing was! OMG! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Shit, I wanna fuck him so bad. He wouldn’t look so goddamn sarcastic then. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“How adorable is this?” Wade pulled his keys from his pocket, showing Petey the latest addition to his set of ridiculous keychains. On it was a chibi Peter Parker, wearing his Spider-man suit without the mask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey looked with a faintly amused smirk and nodded. “Very cute,” he drawled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>He’s so hot when he’s sarcastic, mmm. Talk sarcasm to me, daddy-o. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Bet he wouldn’t be able to smirk like that with this cock in his mouth. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both of you, shut the fuck up!” Wade yelled at the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You’re the one being a pussy and not fucking him. Whatever. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Ugh, okay. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your voices chatting away in there?” Petey asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Acting like </span>
  <em>
    <span>assholes</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Wade looked at the ceiling again when he spat out the last word. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Who? Us? Never. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Only asshole I see is you, boo. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck both of you, seriously. I just want two minutes alone with Petey.” Wade sighed. “Anyway, you like the keychain? I can get you one, if you want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unlike you, I’m not a stuck-up narcissist. No thanks.” Petey’s smile was still weak and lopsided, but his eyes were warmer than they were before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re too nice to me sometimes, you know that?” Wade slipped the keychain back into his pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey leaned over and rested his head on Wade’s shoulder, closing his eyes and relaxing. Wade watched fondly as Petey fell asleep, his crooked nose scrunching a little in that way it always did when he was dozing off or laughing, his arm twitching and spasming slightly at his side. He was curled in this little ball of blanket and handsome, knees tucked up against him and resting against Wade’s legs as he slumped into him more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How this much gorgeous could be stored in one vessel, Wade had absolutely no idea. It should have been illegal, really, for Petey to walk the streets in his Spidey suit hiding all this away and not letting anyone see. Then again, that would take away from how special it was when he took his mask off around Wade, who remembered squealing the first time Petey did it, that’s how delighted he’d been. They’d known each other a little over three years and Wade had taken his mask off only a few weeks before, so Petey responded in kind, blushing profusely when Wade squealed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he thought about it, Wade realised he was now one of only two people who knew Spider-man at a deep, personal level. Sure, the Avengers knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>of </span>
  </em>
  <span>Spider-man’s secret identity as Peter Parker, but they didn’t know the man himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, that knowledge made him want to kiss Petey even more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered falling in love with Petey like it was yesterday, though it definitely wasn’t. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, give or take a couple years. Maybe fifteen or so, you know, no big deal. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was right after-</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Stop. No. Not the time. Save it for later, you dumbass. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>We could be super romantic about it, uwu. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you just say ‘uwu’ out loud?” Wade whispered over Petey’s head. “What’s wrong with a flashback now, anyway? I’m sure the audience would love it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>No, flashback to something else. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Like when you first met! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cliché.” Wade thought about something to flashback to. “Our first date?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Mask off! We were just thinking about it! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Mask! Mask! Mask! </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mask it is.” Wade thought, closing his eyes, tilting his head to rest on top of Petey’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You out in the rain again, huh? Getting a tad… </span>
  <em>
    <span>moist</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Wade asked, smirking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spidey looked over at him. “What? Oh, yeah. Hey Wade, how you doing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good, Spidey. Thanks for asking.” Wade stepped onto the ledge of the building, sitting down beside Spidey with his feet over the edge. He put his arms out behind him, swinging his legs merrily and kicking the brick wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m done for tonight. Hopefully.” Spidey sighed, sounding completely casual, like a teenager talking about finishing a late shift at work, or a college student completing his essay. Given the light pitch of his voice and way of speaking, it was probably a reasonable comparison. He was definitely young, but how young, Wade had no clue. Eighteen, maybe? Seventeen, even. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade looked down at the street below, relishing the feeling of his stomach dropping out beneath him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should jump off sometime, it’s not like I’ll die. For long. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Been pretty quiet. I think the crims don’t like the weather.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not many people do.” Spidey looked up at the sky, his voice sounding dreamy and thoughtful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not like </span>
  <em>
    <span>other boys</span>
  </em>
  <span>, huh?” Wade teased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spidey laughed softly. “I guess not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I s’pose not all of them go ‘round slinging webs and fighting crime, hey?” Wade reached up and pulled his mask off, dumping it behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could’ve sworn that was a normal Sunday for most people.” Spidey deadpanned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’d have less work to do if they did, so I guess it’s good for my bank account.” Wade shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, for sure.” Spidey said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really don’t care that I do mercenary work?” Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of people do you kill? Don’t try sell it to me, just tell me straight-up.” Spidey stared directly at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rapists, traffickers, the one percent population.” Wade said truthfully, doing what Spidey asked and not selling it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spidey nodded. “Then I don’t mind. Look, I… I’m nineteen, I don’t want to hurt anyone. Not if I can help it, anyway. That’s why I’m avoiding big-time crims like the ones you go after, ‘cause I don’t wanna be killing people, but I don’t wanna be sparing people who’re just gonna get outta jail after a couple years and commit more crime.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re nineteen?” Wade asked, dropping his jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Spidey averted his gaze from Wade, staring at the sky again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I was nineteen, I was worrying about who I was s’posed to be sleeping with that night, and you’re out here, fucking thinking about your own morals and mental preservation and shit! Jesus!” Wade chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re incredible.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My aunt just says I overthink things. My girlfriend thinks so, too.” Spidey crossed his arms across his lap, holding onto his forearms as if he was nervous or embarrassed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah well. Our girlfriends are usually right, huh?” Wade laughed. “My girlfriend, Vanessa, she’s… man, I don’t even know. I love her to fucking pieces, you know? Anyway, she’s said to me the other day something like ‘if you’re not careful, you’re gonna lose this guy’ - we were talking about a contract - and I’m all ‘nah, it’ll be fine’ and shit. Yeah, I lost the guy the next day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> managed to get a </span>
  <em>
    <span>smart</span>
  </em>
  <span> girlfriend? </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Spidey teased, smiling and looking at Wade again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade nodded with a charming smile. “Of course, the ladies love me! Have you seen this gorgeous face?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spidey looked back up at the sky again, laughing softly. They stayed silent for a while, sitting in the rain and watching the occasional late-night commuter wander in the streets below, footsteps echoing through alleyways. The howl of an animal occasionally sounded in the distance, responded to by the faint chorus of other creatures in the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know this’ll sound weird and whatever and you probably don’t care, but… I like the rain.” Spidey said to Wade after they’d been sitting for over half an hour. “That’s why I’m hoping there’s no other crims out tonight, ‘cause I just wanna sit in peace, you know? Not have to worry about stuff, and catch my breath.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, that’s cool. I’m not annoying you, right?” Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah.” Spidey sat up straight, setting his shoulders back in a way that was positively </span>
  <em>
    <span>adorable</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like he was about to make a decision and was steeling himself for it. Wade decided not to comment, curious as to how this would unfold. “I like talking to you. I, uh… I was kinda hoping you’d come tonight, to be honest. I wanted to talk to you about something and - I know that sounds scary but I promise it wasn’t meant to - I just… yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Shoot.” Wade smiled at him encouragingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spidey took a deep breath. “When I’m up here and it’s raining, I… it’s gonna sound dorky, but I like to take my mask off and sit.” Spidey’s hands drifted up to the bottom of his mask. “So, I’m gonna take it off now and sit. ‘Cause it’s raining, and… ‘cause I trust you.” Spidey hooked his fingers into the mask and took it off, ripping it away like it offended him. He kept it hanging in his hands though, which Wade figured he was doing because he was afraid of being thought of as weird or ugly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was very much the opposite of weird or ugly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit. You’re fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>sexy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, man, you’ve been holding out on me!” Wade punched him in the arm, laughing. “I mean, look, if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I repeat, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span>, wanna have a foursome, my girlfriend, I’m sure, would love it if you and your girlfriend joined us one night, ‘cause holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>are you pretty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Wade. My name’s Peter, by the way. I’m uh… well, I usually get called Peter B. Family thing.” He held his hand out to Wade, who shook it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I can call you Petey now?” Wade asked, to which he nodded. “But not when you’re wearing the suit. I’ll call you Spidey. You know, bros before identity-revealing hoes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spidey giggled at that, his nose scrunching up in the cutest way possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve really been holding out on me. Fuck.” Wade ripped his gaze from Spidey’s face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Save some of the sight-seeing for later, bud</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat for an hour after that, getting pelted by the rain and shooting the shit about the criminals of New York. It was nice. Peter B. Parker was nice. He had a nice face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Wade never forgot it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>That’s one of my favourite memories. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Kinda forget how much hotter that broken nose makes him until I see him with a normal one. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade sighed at them, feigning ignorance. Instead, he snaked an arm around Petey’s waist and pulled him in closer, smiling at the little hitch in Petey’s breath and the way he stirred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>He’s so good to cuddle. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>He hasn’t showered in weeks. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade pressed his face into Petey’s greasy hair, kissing the top of his head. A guy could dream he was dating Peter B. Parker, right? He hoped so, because he’d already been doing it for ages. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe, if he helped Petey through this rough patch, he wouldn’t have to pretend for much longer. Maybe. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Poor Wade.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Lesson in a Breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warning in the end author notes. </p><p>Peter B, you poor, poor bastard.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Peter B. Parker woke up feeling unusually warm. He opened his eyes and blearily looked around, realising he was curled in a ball, lying beside Wade again - not that he was complaining. It was comfortable, leaning on Wade, head tucked into the crook of his neck and Wade’s chin resting in his hair. The only thing that wasn’t comfortable about the situation was how much the wooden floor beneath him made his ass hurt, even through the pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Groaning softly, he stretched his legs out, wincing at the pain in the crick of his knees. Unfortunately, he’d disturbed Wade, who stirred beside him and opened his eyes, pulling Peter B as close to his body as possible when he realised what was happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nuh-uh.” Wade murmured sleepily, gathering Peter B and his blanket back into his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My ass hurts.” Peter B pulled away half-heartedly, feeling like an absolute monster for trying to get away from the over-affectionate teddy bear he’d come to know as Wade Wilson. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I take drugs? ‘Cause I do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> remember us having fun.” Wade muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s from sitting on the floor.” Peter B said. “Let me up. Please?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade draped himself over Peter B, mumbling into his shoulder. “Just sit on my lap.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wade, I’m being serious. Let me up.” Peter B shrugged him off a little, wincing when Wade fell to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you put me on the couch?” Wade asked, not opening his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B nodded, remembering halfway through that Wade couldn’t see him. “Sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Staggering up into a standing position, Peter B stretched properly. With a long sigh, he rolled his arms back and shivered with delight when the bones rolled and popped into place. The blanket had dropped away from him and had fallen to the ground in a heap, the cold, New York air creeping in instead to nip at his freshly exposed skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, Peter B picked Wade up and set him down on the couch, making sure there was a pillow under his head and the blanket covering him. He’d come dressed in civilian clothes again, an interesting choice; Peter B would have to remember to ask him about it later. In his head it would be something like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so, Wade, why are you dressed like a normal human being today, not cruisin’ in a red and black onesie?</span>
  </em>
  <span> It hardly seemed appropriate, but the words would come to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade was already asleep again by the time Peter B tucked the blanket in around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in two and a half weeks, a spark of warmth came to Peter B. Not an actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span>, per se, not a sense of happiness or joy, but just a warm feeling that made his head feel a tingle of fuzziness around the edges, the hint of emotion. Smiling, he turned away from Wade and headed to the bathroom, feeling confident that he could get through having one shower at the very least, despite the past week of not even being able to look at the damn thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at it now, he realised he may have severely misjudged how much confidence he’d need to muster in order to do this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a quick rinse. Motivation, whoo, let’s get crack-a-lackin’. That hair needs a good scrub. Oh, and your armpits. The rest we can work on later. Get in there, buddy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B flicked the water and got in before he could fill his head with any more thoughts of self-doubt or, even worse, miserable pep-talking. The hot water on his shoulders felt good and he scrubbed his face with his fingers harshly, rubbing over his forehead and wincing at the pain when his fingers brushed a pimple in his hairline. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus, man, you a pubescent kid?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed as he rinsed the oil from his hair and untangled it with his fingers, swearing and punching the shower wall (softly, or he would’ve cracked the tiling) several times when his fingers got caught in knots. Carefully prising the hair apart, he sighed in relief when he was finished. Getting out of the shower, he dried himself off and realised he should shave, since it had been a while. Razors were nowhere to be found in the medical cabinet behind the bathroom mirror, so he scrabbled around under the bathroom sink instead and found a razor in there. Further investigation led to the appearance of some post-shaving spray, so he got that out rather than looking for shaving cream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three weeks of beard growth was apparently not much for Peter B, as it turned out. The 'stubble' was a little more like actual hair, sure, but it wasn’t as if he had a full beard going, or even enough for his skin to be completely covered. His jaw felt smooth and soft when he’d finished, giving him a baby-face kind of look, something Wade would certainly want to comment on - it wasn’t like he called him ‘baby boy’ for no reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B wrapped his towel around himself and crept quietly from the bathroom to his bedroom, glancing at a lightly snoring, slumped-half-on-the-floor Wade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Putting on fresh underwear, sweatpants and a hoodie felt heavenly. He’d almost forgotten how good it felt to be clean, this sad funk in the past few weeks really fucking with his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What was I even doing?</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was a good question, and one he had zero answer for. Sleeping was a big part, sure, but what else? He’d been… eating… occasionally. Sitting and staring at the ceiling. There was a lot of that. He didn’t watch a lot of TV, unlike last time he isolated himself from the world. He also didn’t cry, which was vastly different. He’d cried a tonne after the divorce, which had been incredibly embarrassing at the time, though now he looked back on it and wondered what the fuck was so wrong with him now that he couldn’t shed a single tear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flopping backward onto his bed, Peter B stared up at the ceiling he’d come to know intimately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, did you get all cleaned-up and shaved just for me?” Wade was standing in the doorway, grinning down at Peter B. “You didn’t have to, doll, you were already looking like a million bucks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I needed a million bucks worth of stuff done to me, sure.” Peter B snorted softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby boy, don’t be like that.” Wade pouted. “You’re so pretty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.” Peter B shook his head, still staring up at the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A million dollars of stuff done to you… by a sugar daddy who thinks you’re the cutest little button in the whole wide world,” Wade clapped his hands victoriously. “Boom! Compromise! See, I’m not</span>
  <em>
    <span> always</span>
  </em>
  <span> shoot first, ask later. I can be a diplomat if I wanna be.” He did finger guns at Peter B, who sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I should get a sugar daddy.” Peter B mused jokingly, knowing Wade would happily play along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade’s eyes lit up. “I could totally hook you up! Do you know how many sugar daddies I have listed in my contacts?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Although, come to think of it, I’m probably nearly the same age as most of them.” Peter B said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s one dude who’s like, ninety.” Wade shrugged. “That’s over fifty years, bub. One sec,” Wade turned to face out of the doorway, “both of you, shut your fucking mouths! Shut ‘em!” He turned back to Peter B with a patient, but tired smile. “They’ve been chattering away the whole time I’ve been here and they won’t shut up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They saying you should be my sugar daddy?” Peter B asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Wade said. “I mean, if you asked, it’s not like I’d be saying no.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if you were my sugar daddy who paid me by continuing to be my friend?” Peter B asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Petey-pie, you don’t have to be my sugar baby for me to do that.” Wade said. “Anyway, you want food? I’m fucking starving.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You get yourself something. I’m not fussed.” Peter B shrugged, sitting up finally and looking at Wade directly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade pulled out his phone from his pocket, which still had a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cover on it. He'd had it for about ten years now and always insisted he'd keep it 'until he died'. His enthusiasm and love for Raphael was adorable. A few years ago, Peter B even managed to get Wade to confess to his crush on Donatello, which was so funny at the time, Peter B had fallen off the bed they were lying on and given himself a concussion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B was more of a Mikey guy, if he was being honest. An idiot with a big heart and a love for pizza? Hell yeah. Leonardo was a stuck-up prick and Donatello acted like a little bitch half the time, while Raphael was Raphael, getting angry and breaking shit. Mikey was cool, he kept the peace when no one else did. It was something Peter B could relate to, something he could respect. Not many people acknowledged the work of the peacekeeper in a group, but every team needed one or else nothing worked. The Avengers were a perfect example; they went into some dumbass 'civil war' over some dumbass problem because no one in the group could keep the peace and get everyone's shit together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then there was Tony Stark, asking why Peter B didn't want to join the 'team'. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mr Fucking Stark, always coming in to save the fucking day. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Until he fucked it all up, then it was someone else's job to clean up the mess and whisk away all his problems without getting so much as a 'thank you'. Not a genuine one, anyway. Maybe a bunch of flowers, a bottle of champagne and a card. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B had to save the Avengers' asses so many times he couldn't even count anymore. It'd gotten to a point where Stark's assistant had called him so many times he saved the number as 'Mr Day Saver'. Whether he'd done it as a sarcastic name for Stark or himself, he couldn't remember, but the meaning was still there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I got Mexican. You good with that?" Wade asked after a minute of flicking through his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Whatever you want." Peter B said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade sat next to Peter B on the bed. "What'd you get up to while I was gone? And don't say 'hanging out', 'cause you told me that earlier." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I dunno. Nothing." Peter B shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nothing at all?" Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nope. I'm a shitty Spider-man, a shitty ex-husband and a shitty friend. I've got nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>to </span>
  </em>
  <span>do." Peter B sighed, flopping back and staring at the ceiling again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're my best friend in the world! You can't be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> shitty." Wade smiled down at him, looking over-enthusiastic and very strangleable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We barely even talked before, I just slept on you." Peter B rubbed his face tiredly. "I don't- I feel shitty about how bad of a friend I am to you, even when you say it's all fine and whatever, I know I'm better than this, but I just can't get out of bed and ring you or anything. I don't wanna do anything or see anyone." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So you're feeling sick?" Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Peter B stopped rubbing his face and stared at Wade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're feeling sick. Maybe not, like, illness sick, but in your head. Your head feels sick. You feel tired and achey and stuff, because that's what happens when you've got a cold or the flu or whatever." Wade explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay?" Peter B still wasn't sure what to make of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your brain makes you think that you need to rest and stuff, because it's not a normal feeling so you gotta figure out how to cope with it. And sure, your head needs rest for a few days, but then you gotta pull yourself through and just go outside. See people. You know, get back into your routine. Depression's crazy like that." Wade laughed softly, shaking his head. "Do you feel better now that I'm here? And I'm not being an idiot, I'm asking 'cause it's important." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not depressed." It came out sounding sharp. "But yeah, I feel better with you around." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not saying you're </span>
  <em>
    <span>clinically</span>
  </em>
  <span> depressed, Petey. I'm saying you're having a depressive episode, which could mean anything, really. It doesn't mean you have a mental illness, it just means you're not completely healthy." Wade sighed. "I'm not a doc, that's just what I'm guessing. After Vanessa died, I got told the same thing. I was doing what you've been doing, you know, the whole 'I'm gonna stare at this ceiling til I feel like smashing my brains against it' kind of thing." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't even remember what I've been doing." Peter B admitted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade nodded. "That's all part of it, baby boy. Come to the Mexican place with me; delivery looked fucking annoying so I just ordered pick-up." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade jumped up from the bed spritely, holding his hand out for Peter B to take and hoisting him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't go out like this." Peter B shook his head and ran his hands through his hair, mussing it up and tugging at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure you can," Wade looked at his face closely, "actually, wait." Wade reached out and deftly combed Peter B's hair with his fingers. "Perfect. Let's go, cutie-pie." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B felt his face grow hot at the pet name, wondering how many more Wade could possibly have up his sleeves after all these years. Hesitantly, he followed after Wade, locking the apartment door behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking down the stairs and out of his apartment block felt strangely good. Well, until he saw all the people bustling about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wade, I can’t do this.” Peter B stepped back into the apartment block. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’re all gonna look at me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gotta, bub. You’ll feel better, I promise.” Wade said, standing outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many of these people got hurt because Spider-man wasn’t around?” Peter B asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade frowned. “None of them.” He reached out with his hands, but didn’t try to touch Peter B. “Petey, everything’s gonna be fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t get it.” Peter B sighed, ducking behind the doorway and out of sight. His chest felt tight and wheezy, like he was starting to choke. “I was supposed to be there, and I wasn’t, and I’m still not. I can’t do it, Wade.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try.” Wade still stood outside and Peter B couldn’t see him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t.” Peter B said, hanging his head. Breathing was getting more and more difficult the longer he stood there clutching at his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay.” Wade said, voice soft. “I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t have to be sorry, I’m sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The words didn’t come because the breath to say them didn’t. Even though he couldn’t see him, Peter B could feel Wade’s presence linger, then disappear altogether as he stepped into the crowded street and took off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B stumbled back upstairs, knees feeling weak and head feeling light. Terror had seized him in that moment that he’d laid eyes on all those throngs of people and he had absolutely no idea </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was good with people, wasn’t he? They liked him, he was easy-going and had a good sense of humour, quicker to make a joke than he was to be upset by something. He was good with people, but scared utterly shitless by them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pain surged through his chest and throat as he held back the tears forming in his eyes. Heroes didn’t cry, they didn’t have problems or fears. Crying was something everyone else did, because everyone else had someone who understood them and actually gave a shit about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one gave a shit about Peter B. Parker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swallowing his tears and wiping at his eyes furiously, Peter B stumbled over to the kitchen sink and poured himself a glass of water, shakily carrying it to the couch and sipping it through trembling lips. Usually, that would be enough to calm him, but today it wasn’t. The pain in his throat would subside for the second it took him to swallow, then it was back, piercing through and up into his mouth and nose, eyes burning and itching as the water welled in the corners again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Putting the glass of water down with a shaking arm, Peter B reminded himself to breathe, to ignore the tightness of his chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why am I crying?</span>
  </em>
  <span> There was nothing to cry about, no one had died, nothing had happened. Only little kids could cry when they got scared, not grown men who spent their down-time being a superhero. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stubborn tears leaking from his eyes, Peter B realised he wasn’t a hero. Heroes got their shit together without a fuss, could deal with their problems in healthy ways. All he could be was a mess. A huge, fucked-up, shitty mess that overate and cried and hated himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have twenty minutes before Wade gets back. Maybe. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was selfish, letting himself cry. Horribly selfish and entirely unfair. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I need to breathe. I need to stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The thoughts rushed through his head once, twice, three times, even, but he was in utter panic and disarray, too distracted by the way his chest closed up in that way and how his throat constricted and tightened, coiling and hurting his lungs and his whole head ached because of the strain he was putting on his body to wheeze in breaths, to just stop for a moment and relax, to maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if he could just stop sobbing for two fucking minutes and </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span> it would be fine, everything would work itself out because he had to be a hero right now, had to pick himself up and dust off and work through it all, and- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a deep, gasping breath, crying out at the pain it sent raking through his skull and chest. He could hear himself moaning through his ragged breathing, this horrific, animal sound, like a dog that had been kicked in the ribs or a cat mourning the loss of its dead offspring. He’d never done this before, never lost himself this much and he was so, so lost, feeling sick in the stomach and completely miserable, wanting to crawl into bed and never leave again, unless it was to get buried six feet under. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B hated himself, in that moment. Honestly and truly, he hated himself. Hated the way he was treating Wade and how he lied to Miles and told him he was gonna get his shit together and the fact that he didn’t even feel like he owed it to himself to take care of his own needs. How did he think he could treat MJ right when he didn’t even value himself? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew his legs into his chest, breathing shakily but not crying anymore, not in pain. Now he just felt empty and at-peace as a simple, two-worded answer came to him from a memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Baby steps</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warning: Detailed, overwhelming panic/anxiety attack and talk of mental illness. </p><p> </p><p>Man, this was hard to write. I'm really out here tormenting my man Peter B, huh? Still love him, though. </p><p>Feel free to comment, even if you don't really have anything to say. I respond to all comments and love reading them! </p><p>A quick note to everyone, I'm changing the story name to 'Trialled and Found Wanting', as the old title was more chapter-specific and I didn't like the tone it set for the whole story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Five Times Wade Listened to Peter B and One Time He Didn't</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The thought boxes will explain.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>A fucking terrible decision has been made. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>An awful one, really. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>We’re taking a little break from the usual angst and delving into some memories. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>But, because we’re super trashy, rather than doing it in some story-like way (like we should be, because this is a proper story being told) we’re doing some fanfic trend! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Hurray for fanfiction! Now if only we could get some </b>
  <b>
    <em>sexy </em>
  </b>
  <b>writing up in this bitch! </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Ugh, no, not worth it for all the ratings. Though… maybe… there might be a second book. One day, anyway. Maybe. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>And that would have all the sex? </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Well, there’d probably be more than </span>
    <em>
      <span>just </span>
    </em>
    <span>sex, but sure, if it makes you happy. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>We’d better get this story finished then, huh? Move onto the more… </b>
  <b>
    <em>important </em>
  </b>
  <b>things. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Okay, weirdo. Have fun, audience! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   1. "If you could grab that bad guy for me - don't kill him please - I would be very grateful." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade grinned. "Of course, baby boy." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaving Petey to round up the bad guys in the parking lot, Wade took off after the asshole who decided to run away and make the job harder than it needed to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guy had taken off with a briefcase containing a particularly powerful (and hence, very illegal) weapon that Petey had been asked to retrieve. It just so happened that when a shitfight broke out between Petey and a gang of thugs, Wade dropped by to help and they made short work of apprehending everyone, besides the guy that was running away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panting, the guy pulled a phone from his pocket and tried to dial a number as he ran, glancing behind him to see if he was being followed. Wade almost laughed at how pathetic he looked, but that would have given his position away. Rather than following the guy along the ground, Wade had stuck to the top of the shipping containers he was running alongside, leaping from one container to the next and plotting out a way to jump on this guy's neck without snapping it. Conveniently, none of the containers creaked or screeched under Wade's feet, like the universe didn't want his cover to be blown either. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The universes want me to help Petey and win him over</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Wade thought gleefully, flying through the air as he jumped to another shipping container. It was a nice thought, however untrue. No, Petey belonged to MJ and MJ only, she was his soulmate and his keeper, his lover and supporter, all the rest of that yadda yadda bullshit that 'normal' couples told themselves. Petey was so painfully far from normal that it hurt Wade's whole being thinking about it, because part of him wanted to be in love with him and another part of him wanted to leave him the fuck alone, to let him be happy with his beautiful wife, bound to have children in a couple years and live happily ever after. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because, even though Wade was horribly in love with Petey, in the end that meant he had to leave him the fuck alone. He had to ignore the way Petey's nose scrunched up when he laughed, or the way his eyes turned soft when they sat in the rain together, or- </span>
</p><p>
  <b>We're getting a little off topic. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>I like thinking about Hotstuff! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade decided that since the shipping containers were beginning to grow sparse, he had to jump on the guy. Consciously making an effort to not unsheathe his katana as he leapt, he landed on the guy’s shoulders feet-first, knocking the guy down to his knees and smashing his nose into the tarmac. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ouchies.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <b>That’s what you get for fucking with our man! </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>I hope Hotstuff doesn’t mind the broken face. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guy moaned pitifully, writhing and clutching at his bleeding face with shaking hands. He looked up at Wade, almost comical with his eyelashes so full of blood, then passed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing heavily, Wade picked the guy up and hefted him over his shoulder. With his other hand, he picked up the briefcase, surprised with how light it was. “Is there anything in here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Maybe Cutie just wanted an excuse for you to save him. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>How romantic! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it had been anyone he was helping </span>
  <em>
    <span>besides</span>
  </em>
  <span> Petey, he would have taken a peek into the suitcase to see what was inside. Since it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> Petey, however, Wade restrained himself, fighting his urges to open the suitcase and instead marching back to the carpark, where everything was eerily quiet due to the cease in fighting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey baby, got your superweapon back for ya.” Wade announced to Petey, dumping the briefcase and the thug guy on the ground. The guy let out another groan, to which Wade nudged him in the stomach with his foot and told him to shut up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey nodded, grabbing the briefcase. “Thanks, ‘Pool.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anytime, Webs.” Wade flashed him a brilliant smile, even though he wouldn’t be able to see it beneath the mask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys ready to go back to S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Petey asked the crowd of thugs, who were now tied up in a bundle with Petey’s web-goo. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Imagine using the web goo on </b>
  <b>
    <em>him</em>
  </b>
  <b>. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <em>
      <span>I</span>
    </em>
    <span> wish he’d use it on </span>
    <em>
      <span>us</span>
    </em>
    <span>. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re doing all this for S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Wade asked. “And here I was, thinking you were on a million dollar contract for some cool person.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey looked over at him with what Wade imagined was a - very sexy - smirk. “I’m working for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>opposite</span>
  </em>
  <span> of cool.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell Mr Stark you said that!” Wade gasped, smacking his hands to his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t even mention him. Please. I’m so done with him right now.” Petey grumbled, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re gonna have so much hot goss for me later, huh?” Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always.” Petey pulled his phone out from some hidden pocket at his hip, dialling quickly. He proceeded to have a sarcastic, one-sided conversation with someone. “Yeah, I got your case. I don’t know what’s inside it, Fury told me not to look. No, I didn’t look. I really don’t care what’s in here, I just wanna go home. Uh-huh. Okay, cool, I can do that. Yep. Okay. Can you do me a favour? Yeah, I don’t want the suit Stark’s got for me. No, I don’t want it as payment. Yeah, just do me a favour, please. Tell Stark I don’t want the suit. Like, at all. Not in the slightest. And also, if he flirts with Aunt May one more time, he’s gonna have bigger problems than me turning down his job offers and not wanting his suit. Yeah, just write that all down, deliver it as a note. If he has a problem, he’ll call me. You won’t get fired.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love a man who doesn’t answer to Tony Stark.” Wade said when Petey hung up the call and put his phone away again. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>As long as he answers to us. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>So hot! OMG! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey laughed. “He makes me want to kill someone. Namely him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough. Imagine thinking being rich is a personality trait. I mean, I’m a multi-millionaire and it’s not like you see </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>going ‘round, showing off all my cash and acting like an asshole.” Wade pulled a wad of cash from one of his pouches and tapped his chin with it theatrically. “Oh… wait a minute… I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> do that, don’t I?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but it’s all in good fun. He thinks it gives him a reason to flirt with my aunt.” Petey sighed, giving Wade’s wad of cash a second look. “Is that real money, or Monopoly?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I told you it was both?” Wade asked, handing it to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey took it hesitantly, inspected it, then gave it back. “I’m curious as to where you got all this, but I don’t really wanna know either.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you wanna know.” Wade said, shrugging when he decided the answer might make for a funny conversation. “I work at the strip club sometimes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” Petey teased, playing along. “Which one? Might drop by. I mean, if you’re there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure MJ would love it if you took her for a romantic dinner at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alby’s Gals</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Wade said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For sure. No better a place for it.” Petey nodded seriously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, I should skidaddle before your little superhero family gets here and tries to murderise my guts.” Wade saluted Petey as he walked off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have fun!” Petey waved to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That little wave melted his heart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   2. “Can you grab me a burger on the way, please?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's in it for me?" Wade asked cheekily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not me sucking your dick, if that's what you're implying." Petey said before Wade could make any dirty suggestions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade put his hands on his hips, even though Petey couldn't see. "I was actually gonna ask for a kiss on the cheek, you dirty-minded, horny young man." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, please never call me ‘young man’ again. It makes you sound like a pedo, my guy.” Petey said. “Anyway, I’m down on like… the tenth? Yeah, I’m on the tenth, at one of our usual spots. And, before you ask, I didn’t have time to make dinner ‘cause my roommate invited a bunch of guys in and they pulled out some MDMA, so I just got outta there before they started offering any.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still don’t get why I can’t hang with your roomie. He sounds like my kinda guy.” Wade huffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the exact reason why. Dude, I like you and all, but I’m not having you and him making sexual jokes at my expense twenty-four-seven.” Petey explained, though there was a tone of laughter in his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade realised he was almost at Petey’s favourite burger place. “Whatever, babe, I’ll find my own way to your dorm eventually. I’m grabbing your shit now, gimme like… ten minutes? I dunno.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks man. Love ya.” Petey hung up the phone before Wade could coo at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you too, asswipe.” Wade said as he heard the end-call tone. “The universe is really intent on preserving our friendship, huh?” Wade asked out loud, not really expecting an answer. He got one anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck knows you’re not letting us help. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>I wish MJ wasn’t around. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>We could kill her. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>That’d make Hotstuff sad. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yellow, stop talking outta your ass, please. White, MJ’s stickin’ around, okay? We can’t change that and I wouldn’t do anything anyway. She makes Petey happy.” Wade lectured, in a mood to piss off the little voices in his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who cares if they get angry? Fuck ‘em.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>You wouldn’t do anything because you’re a fucking pussy. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>I wasn’t saying get rid of MJ! I was just saying that maybe… if we were to plant a foreign pair of boxers in her and Hotstuff’s bed… leave some incriminating messages on her phone… Who knows what’ll happen? </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck no.” Wade answered, figuring the answer could apply to both of them. “I’m not fucking Petey over like that, ‘kay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You know I’m right. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>*Sulkily* Okay. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>God, I hate it when you do the action thing. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>*Sigh* Good for you. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>I walked into that. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>*Giggle* You defs did! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You can stop now, I get the joke. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>*Laughing* Are you sure, because- *snort* -I’m not sure you did! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You’re a punk-ass bitch. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>And you’re a big fat stinkiehead! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>I hate you so fucking much. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Liar! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck’s sake. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Liar! Haha! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up for a minute, I need to think.” Wade looked through the menu of burgers displayed on the wall, already knowing what to get for Petey but not quite sure what to get for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck it, we're goin' Crazy Town. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stepping up to the register, Wade was well aware of all the confused looks in his direction, ignoring them all skilfully. Yellow started raving something about beating everyone up, while White was wailing about never fitting in. The usual, really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You off to Comic Con?" The cash register girl asked Wade, chewing down on her gum obnoxiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nope. Just killed a convicted rapist who got released from jail after three months." Wade announced casually. Before she could stammer out a response, he pushed on, pointing up at the board as he talked. "I'll just get a double cheeseburger, a Lot Burger, a red Mount Drip and… a blue milkshake. I dunno, I'm feeling my melancholy today." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl nodded, practically sprinting away from the register and delivering his order to one of the chefs with frantic urgency. She jabbed a finger in Wade's direction, though she couldn't tell he was watching, because he had his phone held in front of his face, watching through his peripheral. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The burgers came quicker than they ever had before, along with a bottle of Mount Drip and a takeaway blue heaven milkshake. Wade saluted the register girl and high-tailed it out of there before she did something silly, like call the police. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey was, as he said, on the tenth, sitting at the edge of one of their usual spots, mask on and fidgeting, tapping his foot with an annoying, though endearing fervour. Wade sat beside him, wordlessly handing over the cheeseburger and Mount Drip. He tugged his mask off and left it on the roof behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Red Mount Drip?" Petey looked at the bottle, nodding. "Aren't they cancelling this stuff soon?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They better fucking not be." Wade bit into his Lot Burger. "That's my baby boy's favourite flavour." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's only two flavours." Petey reminded him gently, tugging his mask up to the bridge of his nose and revealing an affectionate smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you prefer red. So they better not fucking cancel it, or they're getting several raging phone calls." Wade shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks for this, by the way." Petey said through a mouthful. "Oh my God, this tastes like heaven." </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You know what else tastes like heaven, Cutie? </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <em>
      <span>He'd</span>
    </em>
    <span> taste like heaven. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade hummed in agreement with Petey. "I know what kind of food you're into, bud. Digging through Government files and finding out this kind of stuff is all part of the job, ya know." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey man, I'm not complaining. Hell, if you know all my favourite stuff, go through all the Government files you want." Petey moaned at the next bite. "This cheese is a fucking delight." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Spider-Man doesn't swear!" Wade smacked him gently in the ribs, laughing when Petey gave him a sheepish smile. "Also, I could've sworn you cracked the shits with Stark for digging through your files. What, you gotta double standard now?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's different with you." Petey waved him off. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Love confession in 3, 2, 1…</b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Take off the mask! Look us in the eyes! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How?" Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, you're not trying to get in with my Aunt May, for one." Petey said emphatically. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Damn. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Aw, man! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade smirked. "How would you know? Maybe she's got a sexy MILF thing going on in her spare time, away from your precious, innocent eyes. I'm not saying I have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> for cougars, per se, but if it was your </span>
  <em>
    <span>aunt </span>
  </em>
  <span>offering, it's not like I'd say no, y'know?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You should stop talking before you bury yourself in a hole so deep you can't even grapple hook your way out." Petey said. "Also, back to my point: unlike Stark, you actually give a fuck about me. You gave a fuck before I became well-known and you still give a fuck now. Which leads to my third point: you're a really nice guy. I didn't even have to get to know you well for you to be a nice guy. And sure, you act like an asshole and you talk a lotta shit, but you care about things and you know when to stop. Stark doesn't. He just… he just shitcans people because he can afford to and he doesn't give a fuck about anyone unless they can benefit him. So that's why I don't mind you knowing about me. But him? He can get fucked. Seriously. It makes me so - </span>
  <em>
    <span>unbelievably</span>
  </em>
  <span> - angry, talking to him. Like I have to restrain from punching his teeth out." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't realise he pissed you off </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>much." Wade nodded along to the rant, chewing thoughtfully on his burger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry, it sounds stupid." Petey sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, no, I… well, I don't really </span>
  <em>
    <span>get </span>
  </em>
  <span>it, but I get why you don't like him. It's not stupid and I understand why you feel like I'm the only person you can rant to about it." Wade patted his knee reassuringly. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Now slide your hand up to his thigh and </b>
  <b>
    <em>squeeze. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>He's so warm! I wonder how soft his skin is? </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know, last week, I was trying to talk to him about how we can send out teams and stuff to help with the famine and water supply in Africa. You know what he said to me?" Petey spat, his words becoming more frantic as he went. He didn't wait for Wade to answer him, forging on. "He goes: 'oh, and how would you market this', like it's just some fucking joke! Like there aren't millions of people dying because of it and like there's a profit to be made. He's a fucking trillionaire - a trillionaire, Wade - and he can't even fucking spare ten million, which would go a long fucking way in solving it and he knows it!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey sighed and rubbed his forehead, still covered by the mask. All the fight in his body seemed to deflate as he took another bite of his burger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Baby boy, if you ever asked me to donate ten mill', you know I'd go 'round taking up contracts to give it to you, right?" Wade said, hoping it would cheer him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey chuckled softly. "Thanks." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You want anything else to eat?" Wade asked, putting all the rubbish around them in a neat little pile, before very obnoxiously draining the last of his milkshake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You wanna get an ice cream? It's kinda late and I gotta head home soon, but I'll shout you this time. I think I've got some cash on me." Petey reached to pat down his pockets, give 'em the good ol' low down jig, but Wade waved him off, batting his hands gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll pay, don't worry. I might not be a trillionaire, but I'm not some poor-ass college student, either." Wade stood up and grabbed all their rubbish. "You mind carrying me to the ground? My hands are kinda full." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey smiled at him, pulling down his mask. He held his arms out to Wade, who stepped between them and let Petey sweep him off his feet into his arms, swooning and laughing at Petey, who huffed something about Wade being heavy. Petey walked over the edge of the building, keeping a tight grip on Wade, afraid he might slip from his grasp and fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Squeeze tighter, Cutie, don't be shy. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>He's so big and strong! Imagine him carrying us to bed like this. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they'd reached the ground, Petey placed Wade down gently, making sure he was steady before letting him go. Dumping the trash in a can nearby, Wade dusted his hands off and bowed to Petey with a flourish, directing him down the street. Snorting boyishly, Petey walked by, checking to make sure Wade followed him with what would be a friendly smile hidden away on that handsome face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You wanna get ones at the gas station, or a proper ice cream place?" Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't care." Petey shrugged. "Whatever you want." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh wait! Let's do our old game: get the superhero ice creams and whoever has the worst face has to do something dumb." Wade grinned. Mask crinkled away in one of his pouches, Wade became aware of every look people gave him, some people curling their lips in disgust or horror. Slipping his hand in the pouch, Wade pulled it out and over his face, relaxing into its warm safety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey nodded. "You're on." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Much to Petey's annoyance, Wade bought them both Spider-Man ice creams. Ripping the packaging off, they held the ice creams next to each other and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mine doesn't even have a face!" Wade grumbled, seeing if he could make out something distinct, like an eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Guess I win, then." Petey smirked and shrugged. "You gotta walk me home." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's my challenge?" Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Part of it." Petey smiled wider, enjoying the confused look on Wade's face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so confused, Spidey. What am I doing?" Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey gave his ice cream a thoughtful lick. "What would you say to staying for a sleepover?" </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Can we fuck him at this sleepover? </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>He's probably really cute in his sleep! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can we build a pillow fort?" Wade asked hopefully, firmly ignoring his thought boxes. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>And fuck in said pillow fort? </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Might be uncomfortable, but who cares about comfort when you're riding Hotstuff? </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course." Petey tugged him along down the pavement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every time it seemed like Wade could get over his crush on Petey, the man did something to make him fall more in love. Point in case being, when they stood together outside Petey's dorm for the first time, Petey leaned in, pulled up Wade's mask and kissed him on the cheek, saying he was repaying Wade for dinner. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You don't need to pay me, baby boy. Not a cent. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That was what he wanted to say, anyway. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All those jokes I make about you paying me, that’s what they are. They’re just jokes. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   3. "Can't you make the dress shorter?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What, and not look anywhere near as sexy? Petey, babe, I need all the sexy I can get." Wade crossed his arms and stared Petey down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah but </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wadey</span>
  </em>
  <span>, babe, you’ll trip on the hem. Cocktail dresses are sexy, aren’t they? Can’t you make it a cocktail dress?” Petey asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade raised an eyebrow at him, though he knew it wouldn’t work properly because of his distinct </span>
  <em>
    <span>lack </span>
  </em>
  <span>of either eyebrows. “Maybe, if I had an ass as poppin’ as yours. And my fake tits, but I kind of don’t have those on hand right now, baby boy, unless you’ve got a pair lying around that you’ve gotten in the last week.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That timeframe is oddly specific.” Petey tried to give Wade a reproachful look, but he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I like to know what kind of stuff my bestie keeps in his room, sue me! I’m serious, though, I might have a nice body, but it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>the kind of body for a cocktail dress.” Wade sighed, shaking his head. “Oh, what to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hem it by like, I dunno, two inches. You know how much pressure that takes off you to not trip? Two inches, that’s it.” Petey reached down and grabbed the hem of the dress, folding it two inches and comparing it to the original length. “Aunt May can do it in an hour. I think.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really wanna make inches jokes, but I feel like you’re gonna murder me.” Wade said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In front of Aunt May? Yes, I would murder you until you gave up coming back to life.” Petey stood up again, looking Wade dead in the eyes. “Nothing dumb in front of her, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I don’t wanna have the dress taken up!” Wade moaned, stomping his foot and pouting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey sighed heavily. “Trip and die, then. Make </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> trip and die.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Wade clapped his hands, leaving the room quickly, “where’s your Aunt May at?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who knew that a risk to my life would make you so anxious to fix something?” Petey asked, shaking his head and following Wade out of his dorm room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, Petey,” Wade said as he jumped down the stairs and past a group of chattering college students who could not give less of a shit about his attire (</span>
  <em>
    <span>God, I love college kids)</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “you’re the most supportive person I know, in the most nonchalant way possible. That’s what I like about you. You know, Cable, oh my God, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cable</span>
  </em>
  <span>, now that’s a man who is unsupportive in the worst way possible. He’s all ‘take that dress off, Wilson’ and ‘your jokes aren’t funny’ but you’re like ‘you look incredibly ravishing (as always) Wadey-poo, but I’m concerned about your safety’ and ‘oh Wade, you’re the funniest guy I know’, and Petey, I think that’s very sexy of you. MJ sure has gotten lucky.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey laughed. “I try.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, I don’t know how anyone doesn’t like you.” Wade said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have many crossdressing friends to flex my open-mindedness on.” Petey said, chuckling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, well, I suppose I’ll just have to make up for it.” Wade smirked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey raised an eyebrow. “You already do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone could do with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little </span>
  </em>
  <span>more Wade Wilson in their life, baby boy.” Wade gestured to himself, smiling proudly. “There’s enough of Big Willy to go ‘round.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really like that nickname, huh?” Petey asked, shaking his head and laughing. “I told Adrian it was dangerous territory, calling you that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You better your bottom fuckin’ dollar I love the nickname.” Wade sang as he skipped out of the college dorm building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, come on. We’ll take the bus to Aunt May’s.” Petey pulled Wade over to the bus stop, plopping himself down on the bench to wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade sat down beside him, chatting away animatedly and ignoring the funny looks people gave him. All that mattered was that Petey didn’t mind his company, didn't care that he liked wearing dresses and that he looked like a pack of ground beef. That was what mattered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   4. “Oh, fuck yes, right there. Oh… Jesus. Fuck. Keep it right there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, unfortunately, they were not having sex. What they were doing was… similar, in a way. A little bit of pain that gave way to pleasure, sure. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>massage</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not a naughty one, though. Obviously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade pressed his hands down again on the base of Petey’s neck, his fingers gliding over the ridging of his spine, little bumps rising up beneath his pale skin. Lying on Wade’s lap while they sprawled out on the couch, Petey sighed softly when Wade’s fingers dug into the muscles of his upper back, working out all the knots in the muscles and chasing them away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’d been only a couple of minutes, but Wade was already trying hard not to check Petey out. There was a freckle on Petey’s shoulder blade that he was focusing on, hoping it could distract him from the fact that Petey was shirtless, laid across his lap, moaning and swearing up a very sinful storm of naughty thoughts in Wade’s mind. It was becoming all he could do to not lean down and bite that freckle on Petey’s shoulder, to not tease the skin between his teeth and tug away- </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You’re gonna get a boner all up in this twink bitch’s guts. And not on the inside of them, where we want. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Look at those muscles! Yum. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You’re not helping. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Says you, Mr Horny-All-The-Time. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep arguing.” Wade said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey looked at him out of the corner of his eye, vision glazed. “Your boxes okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, they’re just arguing. It’s kinda funny, actually.” Wade smiled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s so cute</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “How’s your neck feeling?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, so much better. Oh my God, thank you.” Petey said, burying his face into his arms again with a grunt when Wade dug his fingers into his back muscles. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck, tell him to stop moaning like that. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Tell him to </span>
    <em>
      <span>keep </span>
    </em>
    <span>moaning! Did you see the way his eyes were? All sexed-up! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>If you keep disagreeing with me, I’ll find a way to murder you. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>With that big ol’ dick of yours? </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade cackled at that, unable to restrain himself. Coughing and sputtering, he realised Petey might start asking questions about the boxes, something Wade wasn’t sure he could even come up with a suitable lie for. Worrying was pointless, though, because Petey was preoccupied with groaning every time Wade pressed down on his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Maybe offer him a throat massage, too? </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>What is it with you and topping him? Maybe </span>
    <span>he</span>
    <span> could give </span>
    <span>us </span>
    <span>a throat massage. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>I could say the same about you wanting to bottom so bad. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Have you seen the bulge in his pants? </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Have you seen how fat his ass is? </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Fair point. Good thing Wadey likes switching, huh? </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Dipshit sees the best of both worlds. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Don’t call him that! You’re so mean to him. No wonder he doesn’t like talking to you, you big bully. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>He wasn’t complaining when that guy dicked him down last week and called him a ‘dirty fucking slut’. Neither were you. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>That’s sex talk! It’s different, dummy. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Whatever, asshat. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>You’re just upset that I’m right. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey sighed blissfully. “I’m shouting you lunch for the next week. Actually, no, the next-” He groaned loudly, face scrunching up. “-the next </span>
  <em>
    <span>year</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Oh, fuck, why are you so good at this? And why does it hurt so much but feel so fucking amazing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“MJ not give my baby boy massages?” Wade asked, teasing out the knots in Petey’s lower back. The skin folded and rolled beneath his fingers, soft and smooth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. Aw, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>hell.” Petey rubbed his face, moaning into his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pressing down and rubbing one last time, Wade savoured the feeling of Petey’s skin on his fingertips, the heat pulsing off him and the way his muscles rolled. “All done.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey laid there for a few more minutes, truly resembling that post-sex look, which was driving Wade absolutely fucking insane at this point. He couldn’t remember ever wishing that Petey was not with MJ this badly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why the hell does he do this to me? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gotta go soon.” Petey sighed, flipping himself over so that he was looking up at Wade, eyes still looking a little misty. “MJ’s pissed off at me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Wade asked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There’s always something wrong with these two</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She got upset that I wasn’t home the other night.” Petey propped his arms behind his head, using them as a pillow. “I get why, and I know she worries and stuff, but I don’t have a choice. S.H.I.E.L.D. don’t care that I’ve got a wife at home waiting for me, and their paychecks are what keep us living comfortably. I can’t just give all that up for a day job that I can barely stay awake for.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you can’t give up being Spidey entirely.” Wade finished his thoughts for him. This was a discussion they’d had a million times. Sure, Wade could understand where MJ was coming from, but it seemed like her and Petey needed to have a serious chat with one another and sort their shit out. That’s what him and ‘Ness had done, that’s what they’d always done. And, surprise-surprise, it always worked, because, like those seemingly useless shrinks said, ‘communication is key.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my responsibility. I can’t just turn my back on New York.” Petey sighed, looking Wade in the eyes. “You get it, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Wade nodded. “Course I do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She wants kids, too.” Petey muttered, like it was a simple afterthought. It most definitely was not, but Wade couldn’t be assed unpacking that kind of statement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Very intelligent response. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.” They sat in contemplative silence, before Petey sat up. “Alright, I should head off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saying goodbyes, Wade watched Petey climb out of his window and walk down the building’s brick wall, waving to him when he reached the bottom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking up at the sky, Wade figured Vanessa would be home soon. She’d been working with Weasel on something for the past couple days and - very suspiciously - wouldn’t tell him what that thing was. Probably a surprise for him, which he could only smile at the thought of. That, and the ring on his finger were nice reminders as to why he loved her (as well as a billion other things), since the silver reminded him of that crown she had on one of her teeth, the one that would flash out at him every time she smiled. And God, did she smile a lot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wind blew in through the empty window, cold air dancing across Wade’s skin and resembling that sense of utter </span>
  <em>
    <span>loss </span>
  </em>
  <span>he felt when Petey left his side. Vanessa had understood when Wade said he was in love with him. She’d told him to speak to Petey about it, to see if he felt a similar way, but… Petey just wasn’t that kinda guy, and MJ just wasn’t that kinda gal. There was no sharing or polygamy in your average person’s world and Wade knew that was all Petey wanted to be nowadays; normal, even though he wasn’t and never could be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loved Petey so fucking much that it hurt sometimes. Chest aching, head throbbing kind of love. The same, addictive shit he felt with Vanessa, horribly and lovingly intoxicating, making him want to scream and break things because it was so fucking painful and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey deserved better - so much better - than anything Wade could give him. So much better, that it was the reason Wade stayed away, because MJ was better than him, more </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> and</span>
  <em>
    <span> stable</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>capable</span>
  </em>
  <span> than him. Like Vanessa, she was a tether, someone steady and able to keep her feet on the ground. Everything she </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Wade was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That was the essence of it all, the root of the issue and Wade knew that, because despite being a stupid, asshole anti-villain with very ambiguous and questionable morals, he was very clever at understanding the dynamic of relationships and the way people clicked. MJ and Petey </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> click, but it was because Petey refused to click with anyone, scared of himself and his own life. He liked MJ, loved her, and Wade knew Petey had honestly convinced himself they belonged together, no matter how much more unlikely and obviously untrue that became. It was depressingly honourable, really, the way Petey dedicated himself to failure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Red. You okay?” The door swung open and Vanessa came through, looking as beautiful and lovable as ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade smiled. “Yeah. C’mere.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grinned, running over and jumping into his arms to kiss him, her arms and legs wrapping around him and exploring him like everything was completely new to her; another thing he loved about Vanessa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your boyfriend over?” She asked with a smirk, nibbling the tip of Wade’s nose when he laughed at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew I should’ve sprayed something to get rid of that sex smell.” He sighed against her lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two are so fucking weird.” Vanessa giggled. “But I love ya.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too, girlie.” Wade kissed her again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could be enough for him. She could be </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> than enough for him. Always. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   5. “Don’t be an asshole to Stark just ‘cause of me, alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby boy.” Wade shook his head, waving the suggestion off as if it were pure and complete silliness, certainly not something Wade Winston Wilson would even think about doing, never </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> never in a million years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious, Wade.” Petey crossed his arms over his chest and stared into Wade’s soul. “Don’t act like a moron. Well, like more of a moron than usual.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Wade clapped his hands excitedly, then froze when the elevator bell dinged. He put his arms down straight at his sides. “Alright. Serious Wade is here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey sighed, stepping out of the elevator. “Come on, smartass.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No swearing allowed in Stark Tower! Didn’t you see the signs?” Wade hissed at him. “Didn’t you just get, like, a degree in biochemical engineering? Shouldn’t you know how to read?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!” Petey said, laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter Parker, nice of you to finally join us.” Tony Stark said when Petey and Wade walked into some large meeting room. “You brought a… friend.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>A very special friend.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr Stark, I’m such a huge fan!” Wade gushed, reaching out and grabbing his hand, shaking it enthusiastically. “Petey told me he was gonna be seeing you and I asked if I could come. I hope that’s okay!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. “Hi.” He turned to Petey. “You know how serious this is, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Wade’s a good friend of mine, I work with him a bit.” Petey said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wear a dress then, too?” Tony asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, actually, he does sometimes. So do I. Look, I’ve seen some of your suits and, to be honest, I think you could do with a little fashion advice from him.” Petey said, winking at Wade when Tony frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swooning, Wade put a hand to his forehead. “Defending my honour, what a man!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The others have been waiting around for you.” Tony said, ignoring Wade and marching off to sit down at the meeting table with the other Avengers, who Wade had only noticed after Tony announced their presence. “Hi everyone!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he got was blank staring in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade sighed, putting his hands on his hips and feigning disappointment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Man, these guys are boring. </span>
  </em>
  <span>"Tough crowd tonight, huh? I'll make sure to pull out my-" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey everyone." Petey shot Wade a sharp look - he had anticipated </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> where that joke was headed - smiling at everyone with his teeth. "I was just sorting a couple things out before I got here, sorry to keep you waiting." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"All good, buddy. And you brought, uh - Wade - was it?" Steve Rogers, ever the 'nice guy' of the group, greeted Wade with a wide smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade nodded, sitting down beside Petey at the table. As usual, all eyes were on him, so he put on a brilliant smile and waved at everybody, gauging their reactions as he went. Most of them seemed fairly disgusted and/or uncomfortable with his presence, which he supposed was fair enough because his skin wasn’t covered and - if anything - was more </span>
  <em>
    <span>un</span>
  </em>
  <span>covered than normal. Dresses made his legs look very sexy, though, so Wade decided he didn’t really mind if they chose to stare at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If they can’t appreciate my confidence, fuck ‘em. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprisingly, Petey had also gotten properly dressed for the meeting. Over the past few years, he’d become more careless and callous with how he presented himself to the Avengers, often going to meetings in a buttoned shirt and three-quarter jeans. Today, however, he’d come in a blazer, shirt and nice pants. Not wanting to put him off, Wade hadn’t asked about the change, planning to do so after the meeting over a coffee or ice cream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Very soon, after pleasantries were out of the way, all of the Avengers were talking. Shouting and sighing seemed to be the top forms of communication, accompanied by pointing and waving arms in aggravation. Wade had no fucking idea what was going on, but he was ready to skidaddle if anyone pulled weapons out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey was completely unperturbed by the arguing, watching as the Avengers all shot back and forth at each other, him sporting a look of pure boredom. At one point, he even had the guts to yawn and sip his water, which made all the Avengers turn to look at him, before venomously yelling and trying to coerce him into offering his opinion on whatever the fuck it was they seemed to be taking issue with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter, what do you think?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell Stark he’s wrong!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the only one that’s neutral!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey took another sip of water. “I’m staying neutral. Honestly, I don’t even know why the fuck I’m here, or even what you’re all arguing about. Only reason I came in today was ‘cause Fury told me to, so I thought something important was happening.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That explained the nice clothes, Wade supposed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, all the Avengers started yelling something about a fight and war and a load of other crap Wade didn’t find all that interesting. Neither did Petey, apparently, because he just stared at them all blankly until they gave up on their yelling again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool, great talk. I feel super enlightened, now.” Petey stood up. “I’m gonna call Fury and depending on what he says, I may or may not be coming back. Don’t wait for me, though, feel free to continue arguing while I’m not here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade followed Petey from the room. Thankfully, the walls were completely soundproof, because the shouting started the second the door closed behind them. Sighing and pulling out his phone, Petey dialled a number. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Petey listened, foot tapping impatiently on the ground. “Yeah, I- uh-huh. Look, yeah, I don’t know what’s happening. Nah, they’re asking- yeah, is that what I’m even here for? Okay. I don’t know. I’m not picking sides. I can’t, I don’t- no, I don’t! I seriously have no idea, at all. Uh-huh. Okay. Great, perfect. Okay. Bye, thank you. Bye.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We good to go?” Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Fury was hoping I could defuse or some shit, I dunno. I haven’t even been told what’s happening, so I can’t really help, anyway.” Petey sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. “You wanna head out for a coffee?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade nodded. “Sure thing, baby boy. I even dressed up all nice for our little date.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That dress actually really suits you, you know?” Petey said as they stepped into the elevator. He clicked the button for the ground floor. “I thought the colour might not work, but it honestly does.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, babe! Navy is </span>
  <em>
    <span>totes</span>
  </em>
  <span> my colour. Brings out the eyes.” Wade fanned himself, batting eyelashes he didn’t have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey laughed with one of those cute little giggles that made his nose scrunch up. “Definitely.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could make further conversation about Petey’s attire and risk giving his crush away, the elevator doors pinged and opened. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank fuck for that.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   6. “Leave me the fuck alone, Wade.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First of all: rude. Second of all: no. Third of all: just tell me what’s wrong, already, oh my God.” Wade said, following Petey as he walked down the straight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wade, I wanna go home. Find MJ. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Without </span>
  </em>
  <span>you.” Petey said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, fair enough, but why now?” They turned down another street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing angrily and pulling harshly at his hair, Petey stopped and turned to face Wade. “I don’t know. My senses are going all fuzzy; I think something’s happened and I’m just really stressed out about it and you’re not helping by following me and asking questions.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, I’ll shut up, then.” Wade pointed down the street and they started walking again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if she’s hurt?” Petey said to no one in particular. “Or </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling like he was going to burst in a minute, Wade forced himself to stay silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed like hours before they finally reached Petey and MJ's place, Petey throwing open the door and basically running into the bedroom. Debating whether or not he should follow, Wade crept in, shutting the door softly behind him and stepping through the house slowly. Hesitating, he popped his head into the doorway of the bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey and MJ were sitting on the bed together, MJ clinging to Petey's shoulder and sobbing, him awkwardly rubbing her back and trying to shush her with gentle murmuring. Fear was shining in his eyes when he looked at Wade, his body looking stiff and helpless under MJ's weak frame. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I shouldn't be here. Do I just leave? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wade paced around in the living area, rubbing his bald, scarred head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the sound of MJ's choking sobs, Wade decided it was best if he took off and let Petey contact him later if he needed anything. Shutting the door behind him, he left as quietly as he came. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour later, Petey was calling him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Wade." He sounded tired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yo, what's up, babe?" Wade tried to keep it light, absolutely dreading whatever Petey would say next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey sighed. "MJ's parents were hit by a truck when they were out walking. Her… her mum died straight away and her dad was taken to hospital and… he died five minutes ago." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jesus." Wade didn't know what else to say. He was sorry? MJ barely knew him, plus she didn't like him anyway, so that was a no-go zone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. I uh-" Petey stopped abruptly. Wade could hear muffled speaking. "Yeah, I'm talking to Wade. No, he- I'm sorry. Okay." More crackling and muffling. "Hey, Wade, sorry. I gotta go, but… any advice? At all? I'm way outta my depth right now." His voice cracked as he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade paused, watching as cars drove by on the road in front of him. "I dunno what to tell ya, Petey. Listen to her? Talk to her? Hug her?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. Okay. I can… Yeah. I'll try. I'll see you 'round." Petey muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"See ya." Wade held the phone against his ear for a few seconds after the end-call tone rang true, feeling like the scum of the Earth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have been more helpful, but… what was there to say? If Petey’s relationship with MJ wasn’t already going to shit, he never would have had to ask Wade - of all people - for advice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of Wade wanted to stand in the middle of the road and scream to the world ‘I knew it’, but another part of him knew that the fact made him miserable, that he couldn’t take pleasure in knowing that he was right about something </span>
  <em>
    <span>for once,</span>
  </em>
  <span> because that something had fucked his friend over royally. Right from the start, the moment Petey told him ‘I asked MJ out on a date for this Saturday’ Wade knew: Peter B. Parker and Mary Jane Watson would never </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought he was being a good friend by never bringing it up, by not sitting Petey down to tell him how dangerous being in a relationship with someone like MJ could be. Hell, he’d be a hypocrite to talk like that; it wasn’t like Vanessa was a superhero. It felt different, though. Vanessa had always understood the way Wade worked and understood that he had a job to do. MJ was the same, but she also expected Petey to push it all aside for her, to get his shit together and be normal in her presence, which, really, was quite impossible because - all jokes aside - Petey was a bit of a freak, even without the mutant-spider-bite shit. Petey was an unfortunate freak of the world because he’d seen and heard and smelt and tasted and ultimately </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> horrible, terrible things happen. Things that most ‘normal’ people couldn’t even imagine seeing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This universe’s Spider-Man was a particularly fucked-up version, too. When visiting other universes, Wade was met with Peters that hated killing and hated their Deadpools for doing it. They were naive and petty, sarcastic and rich, feeding into the very thing they supposedly tried to fight. Crime rates in their universes were relatively low, the most crime occuring when a big villain came to town. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His Peter Parker, though? He dealt with world-breaking shit, villains and criminals that always swam deeper than the water made them appear. There was never ‘just a robbery’ in this universe of theirs; it was always a hostage situation, or a child sex-trafficking syndicate, or a billionaire extorting the lives of people living in third world countries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey tried </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>hard to be normal, but… Wade knew - he knew too well - it would never happen, because Petey was a freak. Lying was pointless, deviating from the truth was pointless: Petey was never going to be normal, because he was a freak. Freaks didn’t get to be normal, didn’t even get to pretend. There were no fun-and-games in the freak life. Wade almost laughed at himself, thinking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you don’t choose the Freak Life, the Freak Life chooses you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Laughing seemed inappropriate. He settled for a wry, heavy nose exhale instead, a smile ghosting his lips, because since when the fuck did Deapool not laugh in the face of ‘properness’, or whatever the fuck you’d call it? Never. He was vulgar and callous and feral, with crazy-as-shit thought boxes banging on about random crap when they felt like it. He was also ridiculously in love with Peter B. Parker, the biggest freak in the known (and unknown) universes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We could have a little freak-fest together, be a little comedy duo of Hotshot and Butterface. The audience would fuckin’ love that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade headed for home, thoughts of Petey and MJ plaguing him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Well that was a fucking depressing note to end on. Wasn’t this supposed to be a pick-me-up for the audience? </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Yeah, I thought we were having fun, not still secretly advancing the plot by revealing very important internal monologuing and background information! </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Cheap shot, really. This shouldn’t even be put into the world. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Okay, that’s taking it a little far, but I do agree on the cheap shot thing. Couldn’t we just have </span>
    <em>
      <span>one </span>
    </em>
    <span>happy chapter? I mean, seriously. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>One of the tags on here is ‘Angst’, so… </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>I guess it makes sense. Still, though. Where’s the happy? The Wade Wilson brand humour? </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>This isn’t the audience’s Wade Wilson, though. Of course he’s gonna be different. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>True, true. His sex jokes do get very overwhelming sometimes, anyway. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Snowflake. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>More like ‘good taste’, but okay. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Flakiest snowflake in the history of weather. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>How insulting. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Anyway, we should stop rambling. Let the audience go search for more three a.m. fanfic. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Oh, yeah! Bye guys, hope you enjoyed! Let us know if you did, we love hearing your thoughts. </span>
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A Hand to Hold and a Shoulder to Cry On</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Back at it again with that angsty shit we all know and love. Just to recap real quick, Peter B had a panic attack in the last chapter after him and Wade had a little disagreement-type thing over what Peter B should be trying to do with himself. There was also some fluff and whatever, because torturing my boys too much is so, so painful (not that it's stopping me, but uh...)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>You’re an absolute fucking piece of shit. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">Why would you try make him do that?</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade shuffled along behind a group of chattering college students, head ducked and the hood of his jacket hiding his head as best it could. He'd fucked-up with Petey big time and he felt like a huge, gaping asshole over it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">He's gonna hate us now.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>It's your fault for dragging us away for two weeks when you </b>
  <b>
    <em>knew</em>
  </b>
  <b> he needed us. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade pulled his phone out and put it to his ear. "He didn't need </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he needed me." </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Oh, getting your phone out so you don't look completely crazy, huh? Fuck you. You're such a pussy. You can't even tell him how you feel and now you're dragging us along for the fucking misery ride. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">I don't like it when you do the phone thing. It makes me feel like I don't being here.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm just as upset as you guys, okay?" Wade snapped. "Leave me the fuck alone." </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You're a fucking asshole. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks for letting me know." Wade sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">Peter's gonna be really upset.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Again, thanks for letting me know." Wade said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His food was ready by the time he got to the Mexican place. Spices and other good smells wafted through the air, so Wade lingered for a few seconds, pulling his phone out of his pocket again and pretending he was too busy sending a text to leave right away. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>This whole 'normal guy' schtick isn't working for me. You're not fucking normal, put up with it. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">We're not welcome here anymore.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, you're not." Wade muttered, ignoring the strange looks he got from the man standing next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You're just staying here so you don't have to face Cutie. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">He's going to be so angry with us.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's not gonna be angry with you guys, for fuck's sake! This isn't about you!" Wade put the phone to his ear again as he shoved open the door of the restaurant and stomped out into the crowded street. "I fucked-up, okay, I get it. I get it. I fucked things up between him and I and you guys are pissed about it. You never have anything good to say anyway, so news flash: I don't give a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>that you guys are upset. How do you think I feel? I've got you two talking shit all day, my best friend is not only depressed as fuck, but also completely and entirely unaware I'm in love with him and I've got people looking at me like I just murdered their fucking kids in front of them!" </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Sure, make this all about you. You think we're in here by choice? </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">I miss him.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's not fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>, oh my God." Wade shook his head, waving his arms in an exasperated manner. "Both of you, shut the fuck up. Please." </span>
</p><p>
  <b>I'm going to figure out how to possess this body and then kill us for good. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">You need to apologise.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's what I'm fucking planning on doing, if you'll give me a minute to think!" Wade snapped, ready to hurl his phone into the wall and start screaming like the spastic maniac he usually was. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Oh, only responding to White, 'cause he's the nicer one. I see how it is. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">You're a meanie, Yellow. Stop being rude and help us figure this out.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'd prefer it if both of you stopped talking." Wade said. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">Stop being mean! Both of you!</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade put his phone back in his pocket before he threw it into someone's apartment window. He was almost back at Petey's and he had no idea what he was going to do when he saw the man, but it was probably something along the lines of dropping to his knees and grovelling until his prayers to some unknown God were answered and Petey forgave him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel the agony of his tumours crawling across his skin, which was unusual. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ on a cracker, I'm stressed. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Stress was some primal feeling he hadn't experienced in years, and given the way it was screwing with his body now, he was glad for that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That's what happens when you turn into some aloof, uncaring asshole. No more stress, the only plus. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The front door of Petey's apartment wouldn't be an option, so Wade climbed the stairs of the fire escape without even bothering to check. The metal groaned and grinded beneath his feet as he went, probably clearly announcing his arrival to Petey. Cringing, Wade stepped more carefully, aware of how late in the night it was getting and that there were probably parents trying to put their kids to bed or something. As he got to the level of Petey's apartment, he slowed his steps right down, listening carefully. He could hear… quiet choking? </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Kinky. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">Someone's having a good time.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head distractedly, Wade went completely still. Definitely choking, but it didn't sound like there was any other struggle occurring, no sounds of fighting or anything. Maybe it was someone getting choked for sex, like the boxes seemed to think (if that was what their </span>
  <em>
    <span>observations</span>
  </em>
  <span> could be called). More choking, accompanied by hiccuping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An anxiety attack, then. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Should I go check? No, Petey first. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade climbed the stairs and stood at the top, trying to mentally prepare himself for whatever direction his conversation with Petey could take him. What he didn’t prepare himself for, however, was Petey, sitting on the couch and having an anxiety attack. Feeling sick in the stomach, Wade watched as Petey shuddered violently. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Has he hurt himself? </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">Peter? We have to help him!</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pushing away his feelings, Wade assessed the situation at hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t see a struggle, no blood. He hasn’t been attacked, isn’t hurt. That means he’s upset. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gasping, Petey leaned back against the couch cushions and clawed at his face, a guttural moan leaving his lips, cut short by another sharp hiccup of breath. Knuckles white and bloodless, he clenched his fists repeatedly, erratic and not corresponding with his equally irregular breathing. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If I go in there, he'll get more upset. He might end up getting hurt. Fuck. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Thoughts were still going through his head regarding the situation at hand, but Wade didn't think he could move to act on any of them. Shocked horror kept his feet planted to the metal walkway of the fire escape, watching as Petey rocked himself back and forth, crying and moaning in a way that absolutely broke Wade's heart. Every sob was like another piece of something inside his chest breaking, every clench of the fists a throbbing pain in his skull. The knowledge that it was his fault hurt the most, though, was the cherry on top of the ice cream sundae. It was a simple cause and effect situation: Wade had pushed, Petey had shoved. Unintentionally, sure, Wade knew that Petey wouldn't want him to see him this way, but that shove still left him sprawling, blindsided and stuck in flight, fight or frozen mode. Wade was decidedly stuck, rooted to his hiding spot that wasn't really all that good, because selfishly, despicably, he wished Petey's spidey sense would go off, that he would turn to look at Wade and stop crying, to tell Wade that everything was fine and that it wasn't his fault, that he was just crying because he did that sometimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Petey didn't cry and it most certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wade's fault that he was now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey's sobbing subsided after what felt like several agonising hours, though Wade knew it had only been a few minutes at most. Waiting, Wade let Petey gather himself again and relax before he popped up at the window and climbed in, holding the bag of Mexican food up like it was the Holy Grail. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You're just gonna act like he wasn't crying his guts out 'cause of you? </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">Will you check on him?</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Look how red his face is, Jesus. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">His eyes look so puffy.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Petey." Wade tried to grin at him, but the words came out too soft and his lips couldn't quite stretch that far. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wiping his face in a cursory action, Petey smiled weakly back at him. "He-" His voice cracked. "Hey." </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He looks fucking wrecked. </span>
  </em>
  <span>"I'm sorry." Wade said, putting the Mexican down on the bench before his trembling fingers dropped it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An </span>
  <em>
    <span>oof</span>
  </em>
  <span> sound slipped from his lips when Petey lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Wade's waist, burying his face into the crook of Wade's neck. Feeling oversized and awkward, Wade put his arms around Petey's shoulders, patting his back softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry." Soft murmuring drifted to Wade's ears when Petey started speaking, his breath hot and flush. "I know you're trying to help me and I'm sorry I'm not helping you do that but I'm just… I'm really struggling. And I'm sorry when I push you away. And I'm sorry that I'm getting angry at myself and upsetting you. And I'm sorry we haven't spoken in a year. I… I really missed you. I wanted to call you or come to your place but I didn't want you to see me like this because you've got your own shit to take care of and I always felt bad, but now I've made it all worse and it's like I'm expecting you to fix it. I'm not. I'm sorry." Squeezing tightly, Petey pushed his face further into Wade's neck, as if he was scared to be seen or embarrassed with himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's okay." Rubbing his back would be comforting, wouldn't it? Wade did it, hoping it would be. "I know you don't expect me to fix it. I can't, so it's probably a good thing you don't, but… I like helping you." </span>
  <em>
    <span>Because I love you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what he wanted to say, though that was stupid. It took away from his argument. "I've always wanted to keep you safe. You know that, right? Even when we weren't friends, I was looking out for you. I'm not gonna stop being friends with you 'cause you're depressed or 'cause you're happy, or angry or sad or whatever else, okay? I know I'm one to talk, but all those thoughts you get about me not liking you and stuff are dumb, 'cause I'm gonna like you no matter what. I mean, with an ass like that, I'd be a fucking idiot to ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>like you, right?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Same goes." Petey pulled away from Wade's neck to speak. "I'll never get angry at you. And if I am, I'll tell you, okay?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You weren't-" Wade caught himself, debating the best way to phrase the question, "-you weren't crying over </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, were you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. Well, yeah." Whole body relaxing, all tension gone, Petey sighed and leaned into Wade. "I was crying because I was angry with myself, not you. Like, it feels like it's up to me to go outside and you're making it so easy on me, but I can't take that next step, even though I know I should. I can't." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade nodded. "We can keep trying. That's something you </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>do, hey?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It doesn't feel like enough anymore." Petey said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though. Trying is better than nothing, right? Think about it: you're more likely to do something when you try to do it than when you don't try at all, right? But even knowing that trying is better than nothing is also better than nothing. You've gotta switch the perspective sometimes, baby boy. Not everything is gonna fit with the superhero view, or the happy person view, or the person with no mental illness view. You gotta make your own." Wade squeezed Petey's shoulders reassuringly. "Whatever perspective you wanna see it in, that's your choice. No one else's. Not mine, not society's. I'm gonna be in your corner no matter what, whether you like it or not. Now I'm gonna stop talking, 'cause I sound like my writer's got no idea how to write natural-sounding dialogue." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks, Wade." Petey tightened his arms around him in response to Wade squeezing his shoulders. "You're surprisingly sane, sometimes. Saner than me, anyway." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I like to change it up when I can." Wade said. "Anything else you wanna talk about?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nah." Petey pulled away, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "Is any of the food in that bag for me?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Opening the bag and letting Petey peek inside, Wade smirked. "You ask some really stupid questions sometimes, you know that?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You uh… you wanna co-op for Call of War? I feel like shooting some bad guys." Petey gestured to the TV, then shot Wade a sheepish look. "In a video game. Not actually." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade sat down on the couch and patted the space next to him. "Let's go. I'm gonna kick some virtual Nazi-ass. I mean, sure, I can't be as bad ass in this game as I am in real life, but we'll just pretend I am, okay?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grinning and nodding, Petey sat beside him and booted the TV up. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Thank God that depressing shit's over. For now, anyway. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">Miscommunication makes for the worst fucking story lines, I swear.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Legit. If you and Cutie ever have a whole chapter of miscommunication, I'm going to fucking scream. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">Miscommunication and toxic relationships were so sixteen-hundreds. Let's bring back healthy chatter and relationships, huh?</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Unhealthy relationships suck for so many reasons. Do people realise that? </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">And the romanticisation of them is absolutely sickening.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Plus mental health issues. And then they combine them. It's like they're trying to be as trashy and uneducated as possible. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">People should hold big media responsible for it. I mean, when a big Hollywood production depicts mental illness as someone going crazy, of course that's how other, smaller production companies are gonna portray it.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Maybe we should go kill some big-shot directors then. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>For once, I agree.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Guys, this is a very important convo you're having right now, but can it not be when I'm trying to snipe some Nazi fuck hiding behind a car?" Wade said. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Whatever, rude-ass whore. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">That's hardly more important, but okay then.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it came to Petey, anything with him was more important than whatever the voices in his head had to say. Thankfully, rather than being petty, the voices shut up and let Wade shoot the fuck out of some Nazis - much to Petey’s delight, as he was struggling a little to set claymores around their base and kept needing to be revived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just rusty, okay?” Petey insisted when Wade revived him for the fifth time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade laughed. “I only play this when I’m over at your place, what the fuck? </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> rusty?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re playing the game in real life!” Petey said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby boy, I’m getting paid way more to kill people than these soldier punks, trust me.” Wade smirked at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Petey laughed and died in the game again. “Revive me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, for those heinous comments, you can stay dead for a minute. I gotta shoot this motherfucker, anyway.” Wade squinted at the TV as he took aim and pulled the trigger at a Nazi that had been sniping at him from a rooftop. “Headshot! Take that, fuckface.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You enjoy this game way too much.” Petey muttered as Wade revived him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the one who suggested we play!” Scoffing, Wade tossed his controller over to Petey and laid down on the couch. “I’m gonna watch you lose without me, baby boy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unlikely.” Petey said, right as he died. He gave Wade a sheepish grin, bursting into laughter. It was contagious and soon Wade's stomach hurt from laughing too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they'd finally settled down again, Wade jumped up from the couch and dumped all their trash from the lunch into the bin in the kitchen. As he headed back to the couch and flopped down, Petey switched channels, flicking on an animal documentary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat and watched in silence for a while, Wade making side-splittingly hilarious comments about anything that could possibly be made fun of-</span>
</p><p>
  <b>He would’ve done that, if he was actually funny. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">Wade’s funny! Sometimes.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>It’s the writers that are screwing him over, to be honest. </b>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">Hope the audience doesn’t mind!</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>I get the feeling we may be becoming uncomfortably self-aware. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>The tags said we were breaking the fourth wall, so…</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>It’s funny when Wade gets mad at us, so I guess some breakage is okay. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Okay, shut up, we’re ruining the story.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You’re starting to sound like Wade</b>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">Whatever, shut up!</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Petey?” Wade said, not really sure what he was going to say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Craving his attention, maybe?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Startled, Petey looked over to him. “Yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know why I just said that.” Wade admitted. “Maybe I’m finally going </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> crazy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we passed that point a while ago.” Petey smirked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You pose a reasonable hypothesis, good sir.” Wade said in an old-timey British accent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a bewildered smile, Petey reached over and touched Wade’s knee. “Are you okay, bud? I’ve, uh… never heard you do a British accent before.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no fucking idea where that came from.” Wade laughed. “Holy shit, I’m really losing it now, aren’t I?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, well, we can lose it together.” Using that as a segway, Petey threw himself across the couch and put his head on Wade’s lap, watching the TV. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a date, baby boy.” Wade rested a hand on his head, curling it into his hair gently. It was all soft and fluffy now that Petey had showered, a great big mound of poof sweeping above his pretty face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing Petey cleaned-up and with a lazy smile was a welcome change from the past three weeks. He was looking good - like usual - something Wade had grown more than a little jealous of over the years. The world could end and Peter B. Parker would still look like a Vegue cover model, even with the broken nose and messy hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting with Petey and playing with his hair made Wade feel warm and fuzzy inside, in the absolute worst kind of way. It would have been the best kind, if Petey reciprocated, but he didn't and Wade had to face the facts, had to stop getting caught up in his feelings and projecting onto these kinds of situations but he just couldn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop </span>
  </em>
  <span>being in love with Petey, because Petey had become his entire world after Vanessa died. There was no one else who could put up with him in any of the universes. Even</span>
  <em>
    <span> he</span>
  </em>
  <span> couldn't put up with </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself</span>
  </em>
  <span>, some days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlike most of the times they sat like this, Petey didn't fall asleep on Wade. His eyes were watching the TV screen in a bored, half-lidded manner, offering absolutely no reaction to anything. Wade almost kicked his leg out when something brushed against his knee, but when he looked down, he realised it was Petey's fingers ghosting over his leg, absent-mindedly tracing up and down at a crawling pace. The steady movement brought them to a completely tranquil silence, the TV sounding like background noise to the quiet. It didn't really make sense, though Wade rolled with it anyway, happy to sit with Petey for another couple of years if it meant he was this comfortable. Having someone touch him like this was… nice. More than nice. Him and Petey were touchy and all, but something about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>Petey was touching him felt right and the slightest bit different to how it usually did, like it was warmer and more of a caress than a touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he did have a chance of Petey feeling the same way, after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Peter." Wade tapped the side of Petey's head gently. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Here goes nothing. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey's head snapped around, but not to look at Wade. Eyes narrowed, he was staring at the ceiling. A moment later, Petey had sprung up and was dragging Wade behind him, into the kitchen and down behind one of the counters. Pressed against the counter with Petey sitting on his lap and looking alert, Wade wasn't sure if his reaction was entirely appropriate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know, baby boy, if you wanted to give me a lap dance, you could've just done it on the couch." Wade chuckled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, Jesus Christ. Thank fuck." Petey was staring at the ceiling still, ignoring Wade. No complaints were coming when Petey dropped fully into Wade's lap and leaned against him, sighing in relief. "Fuck me sideways." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A very young, strange and unfamiliar person appeared from over the top of the kitchen counter, grinning down at Petey. "Hey, Peter." The grin disappeared, replaced by a look of confusion. "Hey… guy… I don't know." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>familiar face appeared. "Oh. Hey Deadpool," said Gwen Stacy, her eyebrows skewed into the most unimpressed expression possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Heya, fellas." Wind swept through the entire apartment, sending a shiver down Wade's spine. A black-masked Spider-Man appeared too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hiya, folks!" A cartoon pig waved, hands way too big and unevenly proportioned, before shrinking back down to size. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hi!" A girl appeared, looking as if she'd stepped straight out of some Japanese anime. Wade almost shit his pants when a giant-ass robot came up to stand behind her, it's pixelated face showing a little uwu sign on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Looks like you've found a friend, White. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>OMG, owo!</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey everyone." Petey smiled tiredly at them, giving a small wave and rubbing his face. "How we all doin'?" </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hoo boy, okay, there's just a bit to unpack real quick: </p><p>Wade Wilson in this universe is different to our Wade Wilson. Not horribly, not completely out-of-character, but he's just different. has different mannerisms, behaviours, story, life, just like Peter B. I wanted to clear that up before people started thinking this was wildly out-of-character for the usual Wades or whatever. </p><p>The thought boxes in his head, as you may have noticed, run on a different logic to the comic ones. For people who don't know much about them, the idea is that Yellow is more maniacal and unhinged, while White is more balanced and sane. In this, however, I didn't think that was entirely plausible, as Wade isn't the same as Deadpool from the comics. The idea for this universe is that Yellow is more feral and vicious, while White is more sweet and co-operative. I'm not going to explain their full story right now, as it'll spoil the story and plans for their development, but I will say that they are important to Wade and have a heavy input in his everyday life, views and values. There is 100% development coming for them in the future. Quick note, they've also become an excellent way of breaking the fourth wall and exposing my own internal monologues (oops). </p><p>Oh, yes, this is about to get so much more complicated and plot-driven. I'm here for it. </p><p>Comments and your thoughts are greatly appreciated! I love discussing and debating opinions, or just reading your observations.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Introductions and Inter-dimensional Travel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some introductions are in order.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Peter B. Parker felt more than a little overwhelmed by the arrival of all the new guests, feeling rattled after his almost-heart attack when that hole opened in the roof. Their arrival was also a little startling because, for a minute, he wasn’t even sure it was them; everyone besides Spider-Noir had come in casual clothes, even Spider-Ham, who was wearing an adorable little suit and had a camera slung around his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You look like you've had a… couple rough days." Miles said with a trying smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks, Miles. I appreciate your honesty, as always." Peter B almost grinned at the sheepish look Miles gave him, but stopped himself, afraid it might come across as mean. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s only a kid, after all. He doesn’t know what to say. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Babe, as much as I enjoy you sitting on my lap, I think we're being a little rude to our guests." Wade piped up from behind him, nearly giving him his second heart attack of the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right. Yeah. Sorry, I forgot- Yep." Peter B went to stand up, but his muscles had gone lax on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade did a countdown from three and pushed him up, making him lurch upward and stumble forwards. Regaining his balance, he spun around and helped pull Wade up beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a flourish and wave of his arms, Wade turned to their audience and gasped. "Oh my God, you Spidey people are so heckin' adorbs! Especially you, my cartoon-y friend, I think we're gonna get along just swell. Well, as long as you'll lend me a </span>
  <em>
    <span>ham-d</span>
  </em>
  <span> in battle." </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How did he read Ham like that? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Ham laughed, holding his hand out for Wade to shake. "Same with you, friend!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, uh, I don't know if I was supposed to see your faces and your identities and whatever, so I'm sorry if I wasn't meant to, but I pinkie swear I won't tell a soul who you are." Wade held out his pinkie, wiggling it enthusiastically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm Miles Morales." Miles held his hand out to Wade and they shook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen didn't even bother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm Peter Parker." Spider-Noir didn't reach out to shake Wade's hand, instead sweeping his hands out as he went into his dramatic monologue about the wind or whatever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh my God, I'm in love. I think I might go home with this Petey later." Wade whispered to Peter B as Spider-Noir got really into his feelings, clenching his fists and throwing back his head. Now he was saying something about the clouds in the sky and rain in the street gutters. "The drama, the anguish! He might be giving me a run for my money, here." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Christ, I hope not." Peter B muttered, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"One drama queen too much, hey?" Wade tittered, "Guess I won't be taking </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone </span>
  </em>
  <span>to a drag show anytime soon." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Noir ended his monologuing by throwing his arms out wide, fists clenched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bravo!" Wade clapped, bouncing on his toes like an excited child. "Oh, bravo, Mr Parker!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hi, I'm Peni Parker." Peni waved to Wade, then gestured to the robot behind her. "This is SP//dr, my best friend! We're connected by a psychic link." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No way. I have these voices in my head and one of them would get along delightfully well with your robot friend!" Wade looked at the ceiling. "He's doing an owo face at you right now. Oh, wait, he's doing a… I don't actually know what kind of face that is. It's like… a couple forwardslashes? And… a colon? I don't- Yellow, oh my God, shut up and let him talk. He's having fun, leave him alone! Whatever, asshole." Wade turned to look at the Spider-Gang again, freezing and looking horrified. "Oh poo. I'm not allowed to swear around you guys, am I?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You and Peter already seem fine with religious slurs, so whatever." Gwen grumbled, sitting up on one of the kitchen stools. Glaring icily at Wade, she rested her elbows on the bench and sat her head in her hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's always fantastic to see a Gwen Stacy." Wade smiled at her widely, not batting an eyelid at her clear dislike of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, guys… why're we here?" Peter B asked. "Universes need saving again?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nah, we just wanted to check in. How'd you go with MJ?" Miles asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B chuckled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Make a joke of it, buddy. Another mask to wear. </span>
  </em>
  <span>"I learnt the hard way that MJ is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> open to making her marriage an open one." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Woah, she's already married? That sucks." The kid was sweet. And so, so innocent. "Are you okay?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm fine, buddy. Sometimes you take a leap of faith and land it, sometimes you don't. All part of being Spider-Man." Peter B shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you're Deadpool, right?" Miles asked Wade, scrabbling for purchase after that very awkward conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yessir." Wade saluted. "Pete and I are best-ests for the rest-ests!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't all Peters hate Deadpool?" Miles asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B shrugged. "I think they'll all tell you that, but... look, Wade goes against a lot - and I mean, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> - of Spider-Man conventions, but it doesn't mean I'm gonna hate him for it. I dunno about other Peters," he gave Spider-Noir a pointed look, hoping he could make useful input, “I've never had issues with Wade." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My merc's a good fella." Spider-Noir nodded. "He likes fightin' Nazis with me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, you hunt down Nazis too?" Wade asked. "Nazis are some of my favourite contracts!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I think I like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wade, too. Reminds me of my brother…" Spider-Noir began a long tangent about his dead brother from fifteen years ago, describing the rain that fell on the night of his death and a couple other things. Peter B got lost halfway through and made awkward eye contact with Miles, who also had no idea what was happening. Wide-eyed and lips parted in shock, Wade looked completely enraptured by the story, nodding along with each grand gesture and feigning gasps as he listened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, anyway, we just wanted to check in with you." Miles said quickly, before Spider-Noir could go into another monologue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peni stepped forward, pulling something from her pocket. "I've got a guber for your phone, too. It'll let you chat with us across the universes and shoot us an SOS if you need any help with something." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B pulled his phone out and handed it to her, watching as her fingers sped across the screen and typed in several lines of code, before putting her guber in and typing more code. After a minute, she took the guber back and handed Peter B the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It'll be an app called Multiverse Chat. Just click our chatroom and do your thing." Peni turned to face everyone. "I gotta go for a meeting with Mr Stark. I'll see you guys soon!" Sp//dr picked her up and put her on its shoulder, before falling into an interdimensional hole that opened beneath its feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We were gonna catch a movie in another dimension, anyone wanna come with?" Spider-Ham asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was gonna ask Peter if he wanted to hang out. Sorry, man." Miles said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll hang." Peter B nodded. "Sorry guys, have fun." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They looked to Gwen. "I was actually gonna ask Wade if he wanted to patrol with me for a bit." </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That was… unexpected. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let's go, Gwennie!" Wade didn't miss a beat and marched over to the window of the fire escape, opening it and beginning to climb out. "I'll see you later, Petey-pie. Stay outta trouble." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen rolled her eyes and followed him, though she didn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>climb </span>
  </em>
  <span>so much as she did </span>
  <em>
    <span>slip </span>
  </em>
  <span>out, not making a single noise as she passed through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"See ya 'round, fellas. Keep your eyes peeled for Nazis. Never know when they're gonna get ya." Spider-Noir and Spider-Ham opened up a portal, stepping through and disappearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, if Gwen and Wade are gonna patrol…" Miles gave Peter B a cheeky grin, "surely that means we can relax and grab a burger, right?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're gonna be an amazing Spider-Man, kid. Ya know - they don't tell you this - but the best part of the job is sitting at the top of a skyscraper eating a burger. Best part, hundred percent." Peter B patted his pants pockets down. "Lemme grab my wallet." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flicking the light of his bedroom on, Peter B searched around for his wallet, finding it tossed on one of his end tables. Inside were a couple hundreds notes, folded neatly in half. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Damnit, Wade. Checked my wallet again. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade had been pulling this stunt for years, leaving cash in random parts of Peter B's house and then denying any accusations thrown his way when Peter B tried to bring it up with him. It was kind of him to do it, but sometimes Peter B wanted to wring Wade’s neck until the idiot let him say thank you rather than waving him off with a knowing smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanna head to that burger place in my universe?” Miles asked Peter B when he walked into the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You read my mind, bud.” Peter B said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles clicked a button on his phone and a portal opened in the ground. “After you.” He swept his arms, gesturing to the inky black void like it was a private jet or something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B chuckled and stepped through, almost throwing up when his feet were jerked out beneath him and he was thrown through empty space. Colours and sounds flashed by at speeds he couldn’t comprehend, before suddenly, he was dumped out of the hole and onto hard, concrete ground, landing flat on his ass with an </span>
  <em>
    <span>oof. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Groaning, he shuffled out of the way, aware of the fact that Miles would fall on top of him if he came through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles landed perfectly on his feet and grinned down at Peter B. “Probably should’ve given you a heads up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, that would’ve been too nice of ya,” Peter B said, making sure to wink at Miles and let him know he was joking around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dusting off his hands, Miles spun in a circle to take in their surroundings. They were on top of a skyscraper, New York sprawled out around them, all full of noise and colour. “Huh. I actually picked a good spot this time.” He turned back to Peter B with a sheepish look. “I kind screwed this up the first couple of times, so we could’ve ended up in the middle of the ocean or something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very reassuring for when I need to get back.” Peter B said dryly, chuckling at Miles’ blushing cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, we’re just down the street from the place.” Miles walked off the edge of the building. Given the lack of screaming, Peter B assumed Miles had truly gained control over his abilities. He followed Miles over the edge and down, avoiding windows with years of practiced skill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They made their way into an empty alleyway, ducking down behind a dumpster and stepping out of the alley, hands shoved in the pockets of their jackets with an air of casualty, as though they hadn't just defied gravity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The burger place wasn’t that busy. Only a few customers stood around, scrolling through their phones and waiting for their orders to be called. All the tables were empty, so the pair ordered a burger, fries and drink each, then sat down at a corner table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes, a young waitress came over. “I’m real sorry, darl, but we don’t have any green Mount Drip. Y’okay with red?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s red?” Peter B glanced wildly at Miles, “Red’s fine, for sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There ya go, honey. Enjoy.” She handed them their food and drinks, before bustling off to take another order. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your universe not have red, or something?” Miles asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.” Peter B marvelled at the bottle in front of him. “Aw man. They cancelled these back in like… I wanna say ‘96? Probably wrong. My favourite flavour. Wade - when they cancelled it - he called them every hour, every day for a whole week and wouldn’t stop pestering them about it until they agreed to send the last of their stock to his house, plus the recipe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s some serious dedication.” Miles whistled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B chuckled at the memory. “He was just tryin’ to impress me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? He have a crush on you or something?” Miles asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Imagine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Wade and I have never been like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? ‘Cause uh… you guys looked pretty cozy when you were on the kitchen floor together.” Miles said. Studying his face, Peter B couldn’t pick up on any teasing in his tone, only a light curiosity. “And like, if MJ’s not gonna be in the picture anymore…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know how it looked, bud,” Peter B said before Miles could come up with any other ridiculous theories (because they </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>ridiculous, surely), “but Wade and I have always been like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sitting in his lap is perfectly normal? That’s not weird between you? I mean… I don’t think I’d ever do that with a guy, no matter how long we were friends.” Miles said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B shrugged. “Wade’s always been touchy. I learned to go along with it. But no, I don’t normally sit in his lap, that happened ‘cause I thought I could protect him, or something. My spidey sense went off before the portal opened, so I grabbed him and dragged him into the kitchen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was he doing at your place, anyway?” Miles asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hanging out. Being a good friend. Why’re you asking? Something about your Wade bothering you, kid?” Peter B asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t met him yet. He exists - I looked him up - but I haven’t seen him or anything.” Miles bit into his burger thoughtfully. “Maybe he was friends with my Spider-Man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, kid-” Peter B thought about the best way to phrase it without scaring Miles. “Be careful, okay? Wade’s told me about other dimensions he’s been to and some versions of him are </span>
  <em>
    <span>particularly </span>
  </em>
  <span>nasty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles nodded. “I wasn’t gonna go looking, or anything. I was just gonna wait, see if he came to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He will, if he’s around. Also, he uh… he might ask you about blonde me. Most Wades are best friends with their Peters, apparently, so… watch out for that, yeah? You might not be able to find him right now ‘cause he might’ve gone off the radar on a killing spree. He does that, when he’s really upset. You just gotta talk him down.” Peter B said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Miles was staring at him, wide-eyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You, Peter B, are an idiot. Miles is a </span>
  </em>
  <span>kid, </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Not a murder spree, he… he just picks up more contracts than usual, disappears for a couple weeks and comes back on the radar to do a stock-up on his gear before he takes off again. Look, as long as you catch him at some point - he’ll probably yell at you - but he won’t hurt you. It’s super hard to explain, bud. He’s not as bad as he sounds, trust me. He’s a good guy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then what do I say to him?” Miles asked, sounding panicked. “How am I supposed to stop him killing people?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t, buddy. You let him go.” Peter B said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you just said I have to help him!” Miles frowned, looking completely bewildered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forget what I said. I don’t know what I’m even talking about half the time,” Peter B waved him off, “you don’t have to help him. He can handle himself. Eventually.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has your Wade gone on a killing spree before?” Miles asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A rather difficult question to answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorta. Like I said, Wade’s super hard to explain. I wouldn’t call what he did a ‘killing spree’ he was more… inclined to kill. We’d fight some bad guys and he’d accidentally hit one a little too hard and they’d die. It was… I dunno how to explain it to you, kid.” Peter B put his burger down so he could gesture with his hands. “Lemme put it this way: You meet so many superheroes who always know what’s right. ‘Killing is wrong, it makes us just as bad as our enemies’, all that good, self-righteous stuff. But Miles, sometimes things are outta your hands. You gotta let ‘em go. Wade - and what he does - is one of those things. He changes for Spider-Man, sure, he doesn’t kill and whatever, but he’s still gonna do the job he’s always done. And you’re gonna change for him, but you’re still gonna do the job you’ve always done.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean, ‘you’ll change’? I’m not gonna start killing people! That’s wrong.” Miles shook his head, folding his arms over his chest and staring Peter B down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not saying you’re gonna start killing people, bud. Wade isn’t all about killing, you know? He’s a person, under all that humour and whatever. He has feelings. He’ll tell you he doesn’t, because that’s how he defends himself, but he does feel things and he picks up on more than you think.” Peter B said. Talking about Wade like this was… weird. Thinking about him in such an in-depth way was weird. Considering him in this manner was weird. Everything about the conversation was completely and utterly </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have you guys been friends?” Miles asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B shrugged like he didn’t know. Really, it was one of the only things he remembered clearly. “Twenty years, maybe? Since I started off as Spider-Man, basically.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he come to you, or you to him?” Miles asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither. We happened to bump into each other,” Peter B said, “fighting the same fight. He said he knew me, seen me around. We hit it off pretty much straight away, but we weren’t really friends till a couple months later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think that’ll happen when I meet him?” Miles asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Or he’ll come find you. Honestly, given you’re only fourteen, I think he’ll probably purposely keep his distance for a while. He might be a chaotic idiot that fights crime by committing several more felonies, but he knows to keep his distance from kids. Worried he’ll traumatise them.” Peter B said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles scoffed. “He can’t be that bad. I’m growin’ up in the age of the internet, remember? You know how bad stuff gets on there sometimes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wade’s done worse.” Peter B assured him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh. Well uh… not to change the subject too quickly, but honestly, I’m kinda sick of Spider-Man stuff at the moment. You wanna see some of my pieces I’ve been doing lately?” Miles pulled his phone from his pocket, flicking it on when Peter B nodded. He swiped through photos of graffiti he’d been painting recently, explaining the meaning of each piece and a few techniques he’d used. A couple things were lost on Peter B, but he tried his best to comment on each piece and say something about the colours or shapes used, trying to remember techniques and tricks from his photography days and how they could apply to art. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last piece Miles showed him was one dedicated to his Uncle Aaron. Quiet, Miles stared at the photo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry again about your uncle, bud.” Peter B said, patting Miles’ arm awkwardly. “He sounded like a good guy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Miles smiled sadly. “He was. You know, uh…” Wiping quickly at his eyes, Miles turned his phone off and put it back in his pocket. “Dad helped me do that piece. They had a wall that was legal, so Dad took me there and we did some stuff.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Very clever answer. Makes you look really emotionally connected and stuff. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Him and Dad did graffiti when they were younger. I thought Uncle Aaron was lying at first, but Dad really did do it. Took me to see some of his stuff and… it was cool.” Miles said, nodding to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno if they have it in your New York,” Peter B said, “but in mine, we’ve got this alleyway network, down in Manhattan - it’s called the Leway - and it’s full of graffiti art. Really famous, big tourist location. You might like it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would it be busy now?” Miles asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B shook his head. “Nah, prob’ly not. You wanna go?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Miles stood up, grabbing his unfinished drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lemme pay, then we’ll get going.” Peter B went up to the cash register and paid for their stuff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went back out on the street and ducked into an alleyway. Peter B followed Miles up the side of a building. Before Miles could open another portal, his phone pinged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Miles turned to Peter B. “I can’t come, sorry. My dad’s texting me. Look, I’ll give you these,” Miles reached into his pockets and pulled out a pair of bracelets, “they’ll open a portal for you and take you home. They’re prototypes I’m working on, but I’ve tried them a few times and they worked. Just turn them on here,” he pointed out a knob, before he drifted to another knob, “then click this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure about this?” Peter B took them off him, examining them gingerly. They looked smooth enough, not too rough or prototype-y. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, they’ll work. I gotta go, man, I’ll see you ‘round. Keep in touch!” Miles waved goodbye to him as he walked over the edge of the building again, leaving Peter B to stare at the bracelets on his wrist and pray they worked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B flicked the knobs that Miles had indicated, flinching away when a pitch-black portal opened a metre in front of him. Stepping through, he was much more prepared for the lack of gravity and shut his eyes to block out all the flashing colours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Concrete met his feet when he fell out of the portal, but when he looked around, everything looked… wrong. The colourings, the people… he couldn’t pinpoint anything exact, though he could tell that there was something </span>
  <em>
    <span>off </span>
  </em>
  <span>about this world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him came a broken, feminine voice. “Petey?” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Peter B, where've you gone, my guy?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A Conversation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gwen clearly wants something, but what?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I gotta swing by home and get in gear. You okay with that, Gwennie?” Wade said as him and Gwen walked side-by-side down the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Gwen shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unless you were using patrol as an excuse to take me on a date, in which case I’ll put on my nicest dress.” Wade smiled at her, winking and shooting finger guns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sixteen,” she said shortly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, really?” Wade asked. “Sorry, thought you were older. Most versions of you are. That’s not an excuse, though - I should’ve checked.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen gave him a side-eyed look, but he got the impression she was reconsidering him, not judging him. “It’s cool. It’s the trauma, tragic backstory. Makes me look older.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, isn’t that how it always is?” Wade asked, laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked in silence. There was a little tension hanging in the air between them, very loosely, not too constricting. Wade didn’t address it, feeling as though it wasn’t his place, given that Gwen obviously wanted to talk to him about something, but hadn’t decided to do so just yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is your apartment in the usual spot?” Gwen asked after a few minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.” Wade said, popping the ‘p’. “Good location, with several bars in a block’s radius. Couple convenience stores, a few dumpsters for body disposal. Fantastic area for your average mercenary.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen nodded along unenthusiastically. “I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and your Wade not best buds, I’m guessing.” Wade said, hoping that could maybe coax her into talking about whatever it was she’d cornered him for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’d say more like… frenemies. Minus the friend part.” Gwen said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… enemies?” Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, acquaintance-enemies. Allied enemies.” Gwen said, like that really explained the relationship perfectly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That explains your relationship perfectly.” Wade grinned at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen rolled her eyes. “Him and Peter were friends.” That explained things a </span>
  <em>
    <span>tad </span>
  </em>
  <span>better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right. You’re one of the disapproving Gwens, then. Cool.” Wade nodded, humming to himself. They were on familiar ground, now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen didn’t respond to that. There wouldn’t really be much </span>
  <em>
    <span>to </span>
  </em>
  <span>say, Wade supposed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most versions of Gwen didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. Why, he wasn’t entirely sure, but it seemed like it really just depended on the relationship between the Wade Wilson and the Peter Parker of that universe. In some universes, Gwen was in love with Peter, so it made sense that she was jealous when Wade flirted and hit on her crush. Most Wades, though, didn’t have a chance with their Peter, but Gwen would still be jealous of any relationship they </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>have. For all their rivalries in regards to Peter Parker’s heart, MJ and Gwen were usually very similar in most universes with one of their primary beliefs; they hated Wade for no reason other than his existence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This Gwen seemed a little young to be in love with her Peter, but it wasn’t Wade’s place to question her. It’d be like one of those weird movie conversations where the dad would sit with his son and, in a poor attempt at relating to him, would ask, ‘so, I heard there was a girl you got your eye on, eh? I remember when I fell for your mother…’ Wade, ever the hypocrite-hater, refused to ever have one of those conversations with </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, especially a sixteen-year-old who didn’t like him as is. Then again, he’d already accidentally flirted with her, so their relationship didn’t look as if it could get much worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite her apparent dislike of him, this Gwen did seem pretty cool. All traces of disgust in her expression had only appeared after he said something inappropriate, not because of his ugly looks. To some, that would be bad. To Wade, it meant progress. Maybe this Gwen could be the first version of herself to take a liking to him. She’d joked with him, which was always a good sign of companionship - most Gwens weren’t that funny, let alone in his presence. Over the years, he’d come across the knowledge that his face served as a metaphorical turn-off, comedy-wise, but that couldn’t really excuse most Gwen’s utter lack of sense for anything humorous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Assholes would say it was ‘because women weren't funny.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dumb </span>
  </em>
  <span>assholes would, anyway. Wade was an asshole, although it didn’t mean he was a dumb one. Women were funny in a smart kind of way, tending to lean more toward clever, sarcastic humour than anything else and Wade respected the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of that, because it took a lot of effort for him to not constantly make crude jokes. How ladies did it almost twenty-four/seven, he had no idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They reached Wade’s apartment block and went inside. Gwen (very smartly) avoided the drug addict near the entrance begging for who-knows-what, shirking eye contact and skirting through to the elevator, calling it down. If it was Petey he was in the elevator with, Wade would have stepped in right beside him, but because it was Gwen, he hovered by the door, giving her some space. She nodded to him solemnly in appreciation, a sign he’d made the right decision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Are we sure this is even a Gwen?</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Yeah, she’s not acting like a fucking bitch. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Wade muttered to the ground, aware of Gwen watching him. “Don’t talk like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Gwen asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, do you…?” Wade trailed off. It made sense she wouldn’t know, if her and her Wade didn’t like each other. The thought boxes were a more sensitive topic than most Wades cared to admit. “Your Wade probably hasn’t told you. We have these voices in our heads that talk to us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> voices?” She sounded a little incredulous, but Wade couldn’t say that he was upset with her for it. Having voices in your head that were - he hoped - independent from your own was pretty bizarre and certainly unheard of for anyone not living in a mental institution. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade smiled, hoping it didn’t look too pained. “Yep. Random voices that talk to me. Their names are White and Yellow. You know, like in comics? Thought boxes? They’re those, but they hang out inside my brain and never shut up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds delightful.” Gwen drawled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lots of fun.” Wade nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade unlocked his apartment and let Gwen walk in first. Nose wrinkled, she glanced around, eyes bouncing  from mess to mess, lip curling slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you make enough cash from your contracts to hire a cleaner?” She asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think they’d end up suing me when they set off a bazooka.” Wade responded, deftly stepping over a particularly dangerous pile of knives and daggers he’d collected over the years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grabbing bits of his suit and a few weapons along the way, Wade headed to the bathroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gimme a few minutes to pretty myself up.” He said, grinning when Gwen shook her head and rolled her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mask, body, belt… everything's here. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was very curious now as to what Gwen wanted to talk to him about. If it was a version of her he knew, he would’ve assumed he owed her money or that she was just getting back at him for talking to her Peter, but this Gwen seemed to be headed down a different path. Surely she didn’t have a thing for Petey, because - as she’d already told Wade - she was sixteen. This Gwen seemed to really have her head screwed on, anyway, so she wouldn’t be off falling (illegally) in love with alternate versions of her Peter. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why did she single me out, then? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything about her was different from other Gwens, besides the way she looked. The hairstyle was different (very bad ass, especially when you took the other Gwens into consideration), but the rest was the same. All the other stuff was weird, contrasted sharply with the alternate universes. She was hanging out with the other Spider-Peeps like it was completely natural, like she was part of that group. Plus, she’d asked him on patrol, a Spider thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe in her universe, her and her Peter had switched places, with her serving as Spider-Woman and him as the idiot-in-love, though that seemed a little strange, given the way she’d spoken about her Peter and Wade. Had that Wade and Peter met randomly, by chance? Introduced through her? Was Wade more normal, somehow? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing quite added up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sheathing his second katana, Wade stepped out of the bathroom. “Let’s get goin’, Gwennie. Bust down some baddies.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure thing. I'm gonna leave this in the window, grab it before I leave." Gwen opened one of the windows and jammed her hoodie into the sill. As she slipped her mask on, Wade did the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They took the elevator back down and went out onto the streets. People didn't even spare them a second glance, probably thinking they were dressed for Comic Con or something. While Wade didn't care if people knew his identity, it was still ideal to not be wandering the streets with your face completely visible. Sometimes being mistaken for a cosplayer had its perks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently not everyone had mistaken them for cosplayers, because when the pair turned down a relatively empty street, a knife embedded itself in Wade’s foot with a solid, wet </span>
  <em>
    <span>ka-thunk!</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen immediately sprang into action, jumping onto the side of a building they were next to and running up the side, </span>
  <em>
    <span>thwip</span>
  </em>
  <span>-ing to the top of a skyscraper and gazing out at their surroundings. Wade was as equally responsive, but… in a different way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck! Oh, shit on a fucking stick! Whoever did that, I’m gonna fucking-” Wade continued hopped on one foot, trying to yank the blade out, “I’m gonna fucking put this through your fucking foot and then I’m going to- Fuck!” He wrenched the blade out, blood spraying on the ground around him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Looks like a Jason Pollock. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Oh, it is fucking </b>
  <b>
    <em>on </em>
  </b>
  <b>right now! </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>No one hurts my vessel and gets away with it!</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come down and fight me, you fucking limp dick bastard!” Wade screamed at the sky, waving the knife around maniacally. Blood continued to spurt from his foot as the skin closed and healed, some even splattering onto walls. </span>
</p><p><span>Through the street, Gwen </span><em><span>thwip</span></em><span>-ed</span> <span>along, swinging gracefully in the air. Her eyes were set on one building in the distance, so Wade followed her. His pursuit was admittedly much less graceful, but he figured that because he’d just had a knife stuck in him like he was a fucking </span><em><span>cocktail onion</span></em><span>, it was okay to be a little off-balance. Plus, Gwen could handle herself, right? She’d be fine to fight the baddies for a couple minutes while Wade caught up. </span></p><p>
  <span>Healed-up and itching for a fight, Wade pulled his grappling hook from his belt and went to fire it onto the roof Gwen had disappeared onto earlier. Before he could do anything, though, a string of white goo came flying down and stuck to his waist, yanking him up and sending him flailing through the air. Both of his ankles broke on-impact when he landed on top of the roof and he went into another bout of swearing, though this time he was rudely interrupted by a volley of knives and daggers being piffed his way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ducking and weaving, he managed to get only two knives stuck in his stomach, which he pulled out and threw in the general direction of </span>
  <em>
    <span>sound</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A moment later, a yelp broke through the air and Wade’s head snapped around to see a big, bird-looking creature fall from the top of the building and over the side. His throw had been accurate, it seemed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about the rough landing.” Gwen came out of nowhere, landing with light, arched feet beside him. “Spider-People don’t break as easily. I forget sometimes. You’ve got the healing thing, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade stood up and flicked his feet, showing Gwen how perfectly intact his ankles were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got a total of-” Gwen dodged a knife, sending a stream of Spider-Goo in the direction it had come from, “eight-” she sent off another stream of goo, “seven enemies. No killing, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>She can’t tell us what to do. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Whoo, fight time!</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t dream of it, Spider-Woman.” Wade pulled several grenades from his pockets and pulled the pins, tossing them at knife-wielding men that were dotting the rooftop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They exploded on impact with the ground, sending out a poisonous gas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wade!” Gwen kept shooting the goo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll put them to sleep, don’t worry.” Wade waved her off, grabbing a gun out instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A man clad in black ran up to Wade, screaming and slashing a knife around. Wade pointed the gun at the guy’s forehead and fired. Blood sprayed everywhere as the man dropped to the ground, body limp and lifeless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wade!” Gwen shouted again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a trick,” Wade hissed to her, keeping his voice as low as he could, “he’s not dead. Trust me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen gave him a hard, long look. “Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaping away, she went to take on a few bad guys to the left, kicking them in the face and landing deft punches to their arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade ran at the other cluster of baddies, guns blazing as he shot at them. Most were still coughing and spluttering from the poisonous gas grenades, falling to the ground and trying to fight off the sleep taking hold of them. Wade shot them each in the head, hoping the combination of bomb gas and bullet liquid wouldn’t result in a deadly overdose. He’d just earned Gwen’s (probably only temporary) trust and he couldn’t afford to betray that by killing these knife-wielding idiots who barely even posed a proper challenge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With one last grunt, Gwen sent a baddie flying through the air and into a wall, where he slumped to the ground, knife slipping from his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Holy fuck! This Gwen is fucking awesome! </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>I agree!</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know who these guys are?” Gwen asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.” Wade said, searching over one of the limp bodies. He checked for a pulse on one of his double-dose victims, glad to find a faint beating. “Fucking painful when one of them threw a knife into my foot, though. Not to mention </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>unfair.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll make for a funny video on the internet, I’m sure.” Gwen smirked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck, we had people recording, didn’t we? Always fantastic when my Twitter blows up over a video of me doing absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Good to know I have so many fans, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the attention just gets a little overwhelming sometimes, ya know? It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> fault I’ve got such a sexy hot bod and brilliant personality, I dunno why I’ve gotta be punished for it with people constantly tagging me and clogging my feed with photos of my ass.” He was rambling and Gwen was ignoring him, a wise decision on her part. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These guys aren’t part of my universe.” Gwen announced when Wade took a pause for breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade shrugged. “There’s a chance they’re not from this one either. You wanna go grab something to eat? I’m kinda hungry after all that not-killing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you seen them in another dimension?” Gwen asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. Can you answer my question? Food? Now?” Wade made sure his mask eye-lenses went wide as he did a puppy-dog face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to focus.” Gwen said, crossing her arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which I can’t do on an empty stomach.” Wade mimicked her stance, crossing his arms and sticking out his hip in a grossly exaggerated manner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” Gwen sighed, strolling to the edge of the building and standing still, poised on her toes like a ballerina as she took a death breath. “We’re getting corndogs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, she leapt from the building, sailing through the air, opening her arms out to reveal a pair of gauze-like wings that allowed her to drift neatly to the ground. Wade looked around, trying to plot a way he could descend without killing himself. A few windows dotted the building next to him, so he decided that was his best bet and leapt down to the first one, swearing loudly when the impact of gripping the windowsill dislocated his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After his shoulder rolled back into place, he dropped again, this time with a little more give on his arms. Progress was slow, going from one window down to another, but the knocked knees and jarred fingers were much better results than straight-up killing himself, something he avoided if he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Escaping death was something that most Wades did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>do, according to Death #2, the one who kept the records for all the Wade Wilsons of the universes. She was a lovely woman, Death #2, one who liked Wade and owed him a few small favours due to her friendly and careless nature. She gave him a lot more intel on other Wades than she was permitted to, but was more than happy to bend the rules for the man she’d dubbed her ‘favourite client’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That wasn’t the point, though. Wade Wilsons, traditionally, did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>avoid death. E-616 Wade Wilson was different. Why he had a problem with dying, he didn’t know, but the idea of it wasn’t very appealing in his eyes. Over the years, of course he’d died a few times, though it wasn’t like he was actively </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking </span>
  </em>
  <span>to die; sometimes it happened without him getting any input at all. In fact, Wade had died so few times that he could recall each of his deaths in detail, knew exactly where they happened, how, and who the culprit was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of the culprits were still alive today; Wade had made sure of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen was waiting for him on the pavement below. “Nice of you to join me.” The words sounded mean, but she smiled when she said it, taking the bitter edge from it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I didn’t think splattering my insides on the pavement was a good look in front of such a young Spidey. Petey would kill me again if he knew I’d done that to you.” Wade said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve seen worse,” she said, sounding flat and blunt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know a fantastic corndog place a few blocks from here.” Wade glossed over her little statement, not prepared to delve into emotions while he was on an empty stomach. Talking about feelings was hard enough, but doing it while you were hungry? That was a whole new level of torture and self-hate, right there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Harpy’s</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Gwen asked. “On the corner?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We call it ‘Herpes’ here, but yeah. Same one.” Wade nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Herpes?” Gwen said, shaking her head and smiling widely. “You’re not serious, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, the place </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> called </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harpy’s,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but everyone calls it ‘Herpes’ because a couple years back, they had this outbreak of mouth-herpes coming from there,” Wade explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… we’re going there now?” Gwen asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep!” Wade felt jittery, so he started skipping along. “Let’s go!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen followed him. The corndog place wasn’t that busy, but Gwen told Wade she’d prefer to eat on a rooftop, which made sense if they got attacked by those weird knife-people again. They ordered their food and went into a building, dodging past security and climbing up the interior stairs to the rooftop, sitting on the edge and eating their food. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Wade said when he’d finished, wiping his gloves hands on the floor behind him, “I wasn’t gonna bring it up until you did, but I’m starting to get the heebie-jeebies about this whole thing. You didn’t like me when you met me. You don’t like your Wade. And yet, you invite me on a patrol, and now we’re sitting here, eating. What’s your deal, Gwennie? You’ve singled me out for a reason.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen sighed, tossing her corndog stick down over the side of the building, into a trash can below. She pulled her mask down from its perch on her nose, covering her face again. “You’re a lot smarter than my Wade.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not difficult. Most Wades still have to hold their thumb up to tell which way’s right and left,” Wade chuckled to himself. He was going to make a joke about holding his hand up and not knowing his left, but decided it probably wasn’t the best time for boring, time-consuming jokes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess you’re a bit older than my Wade, anyway,” Gwen said. “If you’re anything like your Peter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m forty-four. Not that it means much, ‘cause I’m immortal, but ya know. Some people think it matters.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wow, I sound old right now. And super ‘pretentious-immortal-like’. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just…” It was unnerving, the way she could trail off and think without making nervous gestures. “I don’t know why I brought you along, really. I think I wanted to make sure you were legit, but man, I’m only sixteen. Peter’s thirty-eight, he can protect himself. I don’t really know what I was thinking.” </span>
</p><p><span>“You’re a sixteen-year-old stuck with the brain of an adult. Never change, Gwennie. Sure, it means you’ve got mental health issues, but who the hell doesn’t these days?” Wade laughed like it didn’t matter. It did. It fucking </span><em><span>hurt</span></em><span> to say things like that, though that was sadly the reality they lived in. Mental health issues were standard. That’s how it was. “Look, everyone tells you to be a kid while it lasts and that it’s worth it, you get to ‘grow up the normal way’, whatever, but kid, you’ve seen</span> <span>some serious </span><em><span>shit.</span></em><span> Shit most adults couldn’t imagine ever seeing. You’re allowed to feel like you need to protect the adults around you, even if you don’t have to. You’re probably more mature than most of them, ya know.” </span></p><p>
  <span>Gwen sighed. “Yeah, but… the last time I tried to save a Peter, he died.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your Peter?” Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Gwen’s broad shoulders slumped, making her truly resemble a teenager. The teengaer she was ‘supposed’ to be. “He… made some bad choices. Ones that he wouldn’t have made if I’d been there for him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t think of it that way, Gwennie.” Wade shook his head. “You can’t. It’ll kill you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen stared into the street below, the lenses of her mask squinted. “I know. I can’t help it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a hypocrite to say it, but…” Wade tapped the top of his knees as he thought of how to explain it, “life can’t be about one person. Tonnes of superheroes will say ‘you have to pick one person’, but it’s a load of bullshit. You can choose to save the world. I’ll tell you, you think about it the right way, it’ll do you much more good than picking one person. The second you put your energy into loving someone, especially someone who can’t defend themselves? You leave yourself open to manipulation. It’s easy, coming from me, sure. I’ve got no civs in my life anymore. I’m not a superhero. But when I’m with Peter, I try to be. With him, trying is enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck what everyone else says. Fuck ‘em. I’m serious. You’ve got the haircut, the eyebrow piercing. You’ve already said ‘fuck ‘em’. Now you just need to follow through, Gwennie. You didn’t let your Peter down. You’re not letting </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter down. You know - you’re not gonna believe me - but when Petey first got back, we grabbed dinner together. He spent at </span>
  <em>
    <span>least </span>
  </em>
  <span>twenty minutes talking about you and how brilliant you were. How proud he was of you and Miles for stepping up the way you guys did. I might not know you, but from what I’ve heard about you? Shit, I’d be proud too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen was silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, that was a really long speech that was probably super boring and unhelpful,” Wade smiled wryly at himself. “I’ve always wanted to impart my wisdom on a Spider-Kid. I used to try with Petey, but he made me feel embarrassed with all his philosophical bullshit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Wade.” Gwen turned to him, her mask eyes still a bit squinted. Her voice sounded tight, too, but Wade decided it was best not to address that. “I… I’m gonna keep trying. I get where you’re coming from. I just… I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy to forget about Peter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t forget him, then. Honour him, do whatever, but don’t blame yourself for his death. We all make our choices, Gwen. Some are bad, some are good. Some do fuck-all. Now, I need to stop with all this deep shit, because I sound </span>
  <em>
    <span>super </span>
  </em>
  <span>out-of-character. I think I need to go and get myself killed or chop off my legs for fun just to remind the audience that this is still Wade Winston Wilson they’re viewing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can push you off the building, if you want.” Gwen offered, probably smirking under the mask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade nodded, tapping his chin and tilting his head as though he was taking it into deep consideration. "No, it's okay. Oh, actually, before I forget: how did your Wade and Peter meet? I'm so confused about that. Were you </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter Spider-Peeps?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. I was… Peter was in love with me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was in love with Spider-Woman. I was bitten by the radioactive spider and I became Spider-Woman, the same way your Peter became Spider-Man. How Wade and Peter met, I have no clue. I think Peter said something about meeting him on the bus? Then Wade came to me mid-battle and told me he met my boyfriend, Peter Parker. I asked Peter, he said they were friends. Wade turned out to be a dick, but… Peter liked him too much to admit it to himself. Which was why I was worried about you and this Peter, because I thought you might've been a bad decision that he was ignoring. You know, the whole 'rose tinted sunglasses hide the red flags' thing." Gwen looked over to him and he could imagine her smiling. "You seem like a nice guy, though." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, trust me, I know about the sunglasses," Wade chuckled wryly. "I </span>
  <em>
    <span>invented</span>
  </em>
  <span> those glasses. Coping mechanism, hooking up with people I shouldn't have after my wife died." </span>
  <em>
    <span>Casually mention Vanessa, well done. This kid's gonna be fucking traumatised by the end of this conversation. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh. I'm sorry about your wife," Gwen said. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She's sweet. </span>
  </em>
  <span>"It was a while ago. Ya learn to get over shit like that, push on. Now you know why I have a problem gettin' too comfy with civs, right?" Wade grinned at her. "When you get a bit older, we should have a little sleepover night. Paint each other's nails and shit. We've already spilt enough secrets for it, huh?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure," Gwen giggled, her shoulders straightening again when she calmed down. She turned to Wade, hand out to shake his, "friends?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I'm sure I have a vacancy for another Spidey," Wade grasped her hand and gave it a firm shake. "Alright, let's get crack-a-lackin'! New York isn't gonna save itself!" With that, he let go of her hand and dropped off the side of the building, dislocating both of his shoulders when he latched onto a windowsill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he swore and thrashed his legs, he heard Gwen pass by, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>whoosh</span>
  </em>
  <span> of air she left in her wake brushing his bare skin and reminding him he hadn't put his mask back on. He reached down to tug it on, cursing when his arms decided he was too heavy to continue holding. Falling on his ass and breaking his coccyx was fucking painful and he clutched at his back, howling obscenities and shaking his fist at the sky. Gwen stood nearby, snorting softly at the sight of him writhing around and stretching his hands to drape across his forehead in a 'damsel in distress' kind of way as he moaned theatrically and clawed his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come on, Hamlet." Gwen offered him a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, go on without me. Remember what I taught you, young one." Wade croaked, collapsing on the ground and laying limply. It didn't last long, because his coccyx finally repaired itself with a sickening crunch. "Oh, fucking shit on a fucking stick! Oh fuck me sideways up the ass with a fucking chainsaw! Okay, yep, I'm getting up now." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They took off down the street again. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I... actually had to do some research for this chapter? Which was crazy? I just had to figure out how the hell Peter Parker fit into Spider-Gwen's universe. </p><p>Now I know that I've said this is 616 Peter Parker we're talking about, but I refuse to believe that means he started off as some naive little kid. I'm sticking with this made-up backstory I've got going because... I dunno, I just wanna write about a realistic hero. </p><p>This multi-verse thing is so fucking complicated. </p><p>But fun! </p><p>Also, we love it when there's two chapters in a row dedicated to 'adult drama-type' conversations. Wade is much wiser than he lets on.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Same-same, but Different</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peter B is... somewhere.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Hi?” Peter B whirled around to face the person behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a woman… dressed in a Deadpool outfit. Alternate universe Deadpool, then. One who was female. They were eye-level, something Peter B noticed straight-away - a weird thing to pick up on, but it was the first thing he could come up with. Given that she was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>female </span>
  </em>
  <span>version of Wade, it made sense she would be a couple inches shorter. She still had the same broad build, though, muscles rippling through her suit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not him, are you?” She asked, stepping forward and touching his face gently with gloved hands. “You’re a different Peter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Intelligent answer there, bud. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter B nodded to fill the silence, like that was the best kind of answer he could have given. What happened now? Did he fight for his life? Scream?  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The best idea in that moment was to dodge. A large, green and spiky tail came flying toward him from above. Deadpool pushed him out of the way and leapt backwards at the same time, unsheathing one of her katanas and slicing it through the tail, which was stuck in the road beneath the bitumen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>People were shouting around him and Peter B could see them holding their phones with shaky hands, pointed at the sky. Following their gaze, Peter B saw a huge green… creature. The Green Goblin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t distract me like that again, Cutie,” Deadpool said to Peter B, propping her katana up on her shoulder and regarding him with squinted mask eye-lenses. “You haven’t got your gear. Stay outta the way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B watched as Deadpool kicked off the ground, leaping up into the air much further than she should have been able to. Watching closely, he noticed that her feet were sticking to the sides of buildings, allowing her to run along with her sword. Her shoes must have been sticking, so Peter B kept a close eye on them. They resembled light-up Sketchies, the soles of them flashing a dull red colour when she stood on something solid. If it wasn’t for the beast she was fighting and the blood sprayed across her suit, the boots would’ve been comical, especially given the irony of them being used in battle, but still reminiscent of childlike wonder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How very Deadpool. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Despite the female appearance of this Deadpool, perhaps she wasn’t too different to his own one back home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few well-placed kicks, punches and blade slashings later, Deadpool wrestled the Green Goblin to the ground, dancing across its body as it tried to snap at her and claw her away. With one last, heavy boot kick to the head, Deadpool forced the Green Goblin to collapse, its oversized body flopping onto the road and crushing the bitumen beneath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that’s what I call a fucking pothole!” Someone in the crowd of bystanders cried and suddenly the whole group were in an uproar, whooping and hollering at Deadpool, who emerged from behind one of the Green Goblin’s wings and waved to everyone, flicking her katana at the ground and spraying blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Police cars pulled up and officers climbed out, running past Deadpool and over to the Green Goblin. They didn’t even spare her a second glance as they went past, something Peter B felt a slight pang of jealousy for. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, to not be on New York’s most wanted list, even though all you’re trying to do is help. Must be real nice. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Deadpool strolled over to Peter B, gripping his shoulder and pulling him into her side. “They’re gonna go fucking feral. Stick close to me if you don’t wanna get ya face ripped up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should be getting back home,” Peter B said as Deadpool dragged him along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t go anywhere with those old things. Mila can fix ‘em up for you,” Deadpool muttered, quickly giving Peter B’s dimension-hopping bracelets a look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?” Peter B asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deadpool sighed. “Mila Morales, Spider-Kid. She made those bad-boys, she’ll know how to fix ‘em. I’m not gonna hurt you Peter, for fuck’s sake, I’m tryna help you here. Work with me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean Miles?” Peter B asked. “The kid from Brooklyn?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’ve got a boy version in your universe?” Deadpool tugged Peter B along, dragging him through the crowds of people trying to get her autograph. “Interesting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, he’s- it’s complicated. He’s from </span>
  <em>
    <span>another</span>
  </em>
  <span>-another universe. Not my universe, one I got sucked into a couple weeks back.” People were trying to grab at </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>now, fingers scrabbling to get a grip on his arm or jackets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. You regularly universe-hop?” Deadpool asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not to anywhere by choice, apparently,” Peter B grumbled, looking around him. All he was met with was grinning faces waving papers and pens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deadpool yanked Peter B to the end of the street and hailed a taxi coming down the road. It pulled over immediately and Deadpool opened the passenger side door, revealing a grinning driver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Wilson, hop in!” The driver said, beckoning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deadpool seemed to remember something, turning to Peter B with her right hand outstretched. “Oh. My name’s with a ‘y’, by the way. Call me Wayde.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Peter B shook her hand and almost introduced himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She already knows you, idiot. </span>
  </em>
  <span>At the sweeping gesture she made, he climbed into the front seat of the cab, Wayde sliding into the seat behind him. Just like his Wade back home, Wayde didn’t bother doing up her seatbelt, something Peter B could distinctly remember being a constant argument between him and Wade when they were younger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take us to my place.” Wayde told the driver, who nodded enthusiastically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” The driver started the car back up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they peeled away from the curb, people banged on the side of the car, trying to get Wayde’s attention, smearing their papers on the windows in her face. Sighing, she turned to face inward, gazing right out the front of the car and ignoring all the tapping and smacking sounds. The driver seemed completely undeterred by all the noise, focusing on the road and driving along smoothly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, they were able to pull away from the crowd, driving down the street and far from their screams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I take it that you’re a pretty big deal around here?” Peter B asked, turning to watch as Wayde slumped back in her seat, clawing fingers against her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me about it,” she groaned, shaking her head and falling silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B went for a different approach this time. “You seemed kinda surprised to see me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look just like my Petey, of course I was surprised. Plus, it’s not often I get some weirdo tumbling in from the multiverse.” Wayde reached up and tugged her mask off, tossing it to the other side of the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked just like his Wade, which made things a hell of a lot easier. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Same backstory. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“What happened to your Peter?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably died. I dunno.” Wayde rubbed her face and sighed, her whole body crumpling against the seat. “We were together. You know, dating, fucking, whatever you wanna call it. We were working as a team on the streets, doing everything with each other and then one night he gets this call while I’m asleep and fucks off to another dimension. I haven’t heard from him since. Seven fucking years, Petey, and I haven’t heard a thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and Peter were together?” Peter B asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. Living the Wade Wilson dream, I was. But, ya know, no Wades are allowed to be happy, so he fucked off someplace else. Probably died.” Wayde still hadn’t done up her seatbelt and decided she wasn’t going to bother at all, draping herself across all three backseats and not even looking slightly discomforted by the katanas strapped to her back. She closed her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The ‘Wade Wilson dream’?” Peter B furrowed his eyebrows, smiling like it was bizarre. “What does that mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cracking open one eye, she regarded him with a lazy smirk. “Fuckin’ around with Peter Parker. It’s every Wade’s dream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean, like… dating?” Peter B asked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whaaat? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure you’ve ever been to an alternate dimension? Dude, literally every fucking Wade is in love with his Peter.” Wayde closed her eyes again, chuckling to herself. Choking, she stopped. “Holy shit, that wasn’t like, major spoilers for you, was it? Oh fuck. Oops.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wade’s in love with me?” Peter B asked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is not good. Is it? No. Holy shit. Yes. Maybe. What the fuck is happening? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The worst thing was, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. All those times Wade touched him and held him and spoken with him and all the other shit he’d done for him over the years… it made sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it didn’t. Because… Peter B. Parker was no one special. Peter B. Parker was just some guy who got divorced to his wife and best friend, the only woman who ever cared for him and it was all because he was a fucking coward. Wade couldn’t be in love with Peter B. Parker because everything about Peter B. Parker screamed ‘dork’ and ‘idiot’ and ‘coward’, because that was all that Peter B. Parker had ever been. Nothing was good about Peter B, he had nothing to redeem him in the eyes of his spectators. Even his other self, Spider-Man, was a fucking joke. Couldn’t do his job right, was bitter and lonely and too naive to get the job done </span>
  <em>
    <span>right. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no way Wade loved him, but… maybe he did. Because when Wade looked at him, it was like he couldn’t see anything else in the background, like he was focusing on Peter and Peter only. It was as if he didn’t see Peter B. Parker, or Spider-Man, just… Peter. And Wade looked at him like that was enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am so, so sorry. Oh fuck.” Wayde sat up and reached out to touch Peter B’s arm. “I didn’t mean to ruin the surprise. You’re not… you’re not with MJ, are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He isn’t, is he?” Peter B asked. He would’ve winced at the way his voice cracked, but he didn’t care anymore. Wade was in love with him? When? How? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wayde squeezed his arm. “I don’t know, but I think so, Cutie. Ask him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even though I’m a fucking mess?” Peter B asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey, Wade Wilsons </span>
  <em>
    <span>crave</span>
  </em>
  <span> mess.” Wayde rubbed his arm in a comfortable, motherly way. It reminded him of Aunt May, the thought tugging at his heartstrings. How he wished he could run home to her now, where she’d be sitting with her knitting in her lap, but she’d push it over a little so that Peter B could rest his head there too and he’d just talk and she’d just listen, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was all gone, now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Focus. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if he isn’t?” Peter B asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know him very well, if you feel like you’ve gotta ask me that. Everyone loves your bubble butt.” Wayde gave his arm a solid pat. “Take a breath, Cutie. We’re almost back at my place, you can unwind a bit there, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B looked at her, staring her straight in the eyes. The car lurched to a halt, but he barely noticed. “Are you sure?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure. C’mon, bubs, get your booty outta the cab, before this asshole starts charging me overtime.” Wayde smiled affectionately at the driver, leaning forward to kiss her cheek and press a wad of cash into her hand. “Thanks for the ride, Kitty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anytime, Miss Wilson,” the driver gave her a brilliant smile, “always a pleasure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B clambered out of the car and onto the pavement, the cold, New York air biting at his skin. Wayde bundled him up in her arms and guided him to a metal door, fishing some keys from one of her suit pouches and unlocking the door with a squeak. Lights flickered on and Wayde pushed Peter B forward, closing the door behind them as Peter B padded down the concrete stairs beneath him, wondering where they were. This wasn't where his Wade's apartment was, or any property he owned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stairs led to a large basement area, the walls made of the same concrete, the dull grey only broken by the messily pasted rock band posters on the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You like You Am I?" Peter B asked, touching the cover of an album that had been stuck to a concrete pillar. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hourly Daily</span>
  <em>
    <span>. Nice. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"My Petey did. Good to know all Petey's have weird as fuck taste in music." Wayde huffed a laugh. “Mila’s gonna be here in an hour, so get comfortable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wayde disappeared for a minute, coming back in a different change of clothes. She directed Peter B over to a couch in the corner of the basement, an old, stained but comfy thing, parked in front of a large TV. When Wayde first turned it on, security footage beamed up on the screen, but she sighed and changed the TV settings to a random channel, then dumped the remote in Peter B’s lap and told him to put on whatever he wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five minutes of channel surfing was enough to leave him positively bored and willing to watch a game of football between two teams he didn’t even know. He chose to barrack for the red-and-black team, nicknaming them the ‘Pools’ in his head, because the commentators were only saying the names of players. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flicking through her phone, Wayde came to sit with Peter B and they struck up a conversation regarding enemies they’d fought over the years. Not many things were different, there, so they moved on to world events, then their personal lives. Most things were the same, but Wayde told Peter B that she’d been raised in the United States, attending school with her Peter. That was already strange, though it got even more different when Wayde told Peter B that MJ had died in a car accident at the age of eleven, thrown from the backseat and through the windscreen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Growing up without MJ… Peter B couldn’t imagine it. His whole school life, he’d been friends with MJ. Every other friend he had came and went, but MJ had been a constant in his life, there with him every year, even when they weren’t in the same classes. Along the way he met other friends that ended up sticking around, although they never became his </span>
  <em>
    <span>best </span>
  </em>
  <span>friends, not like MJ and Wade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he thought about it, he realised that was why MJ had always been so uncomfortable with the relationship between Peter B and Wade. MJ had spent years with him until they truly became best friends, but Wade only took a few months to worm his way into Peter B’s heart and take up a spot there. He became a best friend, even when Peter B’s other friends hung around. It was no wonder MJ had been so worried by it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decided he’d make it up to MJ when he got back to his own universe and sorted his stuff out with Wade. She deserved so much better than him, she always had. If she didn’t want to hear it, he’d accept that. That would be a perfectly fair reaction to your ex (who had tried to get back with you only a couple weeks ago) marching up to your doorstep and asking you to forgive him for something that was probably only going to make him feel better about himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Screeching metal and echoing footsteps announced the arrival of Mila Morales. Anticipation rolled around in Peter B’s gut. Would she be older? Younger? The exact same, but female? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, ‘Pool.” Mila stepped down the stairs, grinning. She froze at the sight of Peter B. “Peter?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not our one, Webs.” Wayde’s voice sounded tired and defeated. “Sorry, girlie, didn’t wanna get you worked up over text. Figured it was easier if you saw him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m from another dimension,” Peter B said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mila sighed. “Damn. Nice to meet you, then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They shook hands. As Mila exchanged a warm greeting with Wayde, Peter B got a good look at her. She was older than Miles, taller, but still the same. Her attire was the same as Miles’, with the basketball shoes and slightly baggy clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need some dimension bracelets fixed?” Mila turned to Peter B, hands out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, if you could.” Peter B gave her the bracelets, watching as she strolled over to a workbench along one of the basement walls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whistling, she dumped the bracelets on the bench and gathered tools she’d need. “These are old as </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span>, man. Your Mila’s what, fourteen? I remember these.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mila set to work with her tools, picking apart the bracelets with deft fingers and playing around with tiny bits and pieces, working with some under a magnifying glass. Pulling out all kinds of screwdrivers and wrenches, she was quick and efficient, her movements so fluid that they became difficult to follow. She sang quietly under her breath as she worked, gentle voice sounding eerily similar to Miles as she mumbled some lines, while hitting every note on others in the same way that he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an hour before Mila was finished, strolling over to Peter B and chuckling at her handiwork. She clipped the bracelets to Peter B’s wrists. “I tried my best, man, but I don’t keep many of my tools here nowadays. You want better stuff, you’ll have to come to my workshop, but I get the feeling you just wanna get home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Got some stuff to take care of,” he gave Wayde a meaningful look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go get ‘im, Cutie.” Wayde clapped him on the shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell your Mila to get some smaller tools, yeah? Don’t get ‘em online, though, ‘cause of scammers.” Mila shook Peter B’s hand again. “Don’t go dimension hoppin’ on your own, okay? Universes need more Peters. See you ‘round, Spider-Man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mila showed him how to use the bracelets, then sent him on his way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The portal he went through opened up in an unexpected area: right outside Aunt May’s place. At the sight of it, with its blackened windows and overgrown grass, his heart broke a little, aching in a long-forgotten way. Fumbling around in his pockets, he found his keys, sifting through them to get to the silver one he knew would unlock the front door of the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slotting the key into the lock and twisting, Peter B stepped into the house, shutting the door softly behind him again. The floorboards creaked under his feet in that way they always had, giving him a warm, fuzzy feeling as memories of Uncle Ben coming home from work flooded through his mind. When he was a little kid, he’d run down the stairs and leap into Uncle Ben’s arms. As Peter B got older, he would call down to Uncle Ben and Uncle Ben would yell back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After he died, it became Peter B coming home and calling to Aunt May, who would emerge from the kitchen smelling like that night’s dinner, walking forward to wrap her arms around Peter B’s neck and kiss his cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The once-cosy living room sat on his right, looking cold and empty. Years ago, the room felt small and safe, a cocoon of warmth to hide in from the outside world, to crash and relax, maybe to fall asleep to the sound of Aunt May’s knitting needles clacking as she worked. Now, everything felt tiny and restrictive, the only sound being Peter B’s slow, hesitant breathing, like his lively presence would destroy the dead quiet that had fallen over the home after Aunt May died. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoulders slumped, Peter B wandered into the kitchen and dining space, fingers brushing the counter tops and wincing at the trails of dust left behind, staining his fingertips grey. The fridge sat in the corner, magnets distributed scarcely across its surface. When he was younger, he would stare at the magnets on the fridge and wonder if they’d ever be able to put souvenirs on there. They never had, always too poor to go anywhere for vacation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stove was covered in random burn marks and black stains, a few of which he remembered creating himself. Smiling, he could almost hear Aunt May’s tittering, her patting his shoulder and helping him fix whatever mess he’d managed to make. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With no tablecloth, the dining table looked bare, the wood shining a pale silver colour. A chip was wedged in one corner, the result of rough play by Peter B when he was younger. Aunt May had almost had a heart attack over that, never letting him play with his toys in the kitchen or dining room again. Usually, she covered it with a tablecloth and matching runner, maybe even a vase of flowers when she was feeling adventurous, but now the table looked destitute, all of the proud lacquering of the wood exposed, as if revealing a terrible secret. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning away, Peter B walked into the living room and up the stairs, taking them two at a time and reminiscing over his adolescent days. The action made his knees hurt - God, he was getting old - but he did it anyway, almost giggling at how young it made him feel. Life had been good, then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s bedroom was one room Peter B didn’t have many memories of. Vague whispers of himself as a child tugged at him, memories of waking Uncle Ben and Aunt May early on a weekend morning, but nothing else came. Despite his lack of knowledge regarding the room, it felt wrong to see the bed with no duvet on, or even any sheets to cover the mattress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His own room wasn’t much of a sight, either. While it didn’t upset him to see it so empty, it wasn’t a pleasant sight either, simply serving as a reminder of how he had left home and moved out to live in his college, before leaving there to live in an apartment with MJ. Back in his teens, he’d had posters on the walls for science stuff and alternative rock bands, some sticky-tape marks still left on the wall’s paint from where he’d taken things down. His desk looked unnervingly clear, so different to when he’d filled it with Spider-Man prototypes and gear. Now, rather than being full of junk, it was full of dust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back downstairs he went again, drifting outside. The yard had felt so big when he was younger, accommodating his vivid imagination and boundless energy. Since then, the world had grown much larger and everything looked so small. Grass brushed against his shins, almost like it was clawing its way up his legs and demanding to be cut, begging for him to bring back a lawnmower and fix everything up, just like Uncle Ben had shown him when he was younger. It was an appealing thought, to take care of this place again, but Peter B knew he wasn’t quite ready yet. Taking a leap of faith didn’t work for grief, he’d found out over the years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling his keys from his pocket again, Peter B found the key for the tool shed, sliding it into the lock and popping it open. The shed was just as Peter B remembered, no changes made to it at all - the workbench still had tools strewn about on its surface, gardening supplies and equipment stacked against the wall in a corner, long abandoned. Peter B flopped down on the futon along the wall, sinking into its softness and sighing as it melded against his body. His bed was in the house, but it would’ve felt wrong to lie down there. Not after all the years of neglect, not with no sheets or duvet to cover it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Staring up at the tin roof ceiling, Peter B’s thoughts drifted to Wade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade… loved him. Maybe. No matter how unlikely it seemed, no matter how stupid it could be, Wade was apparently in love with him for some moronic, unknown reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, as he turned the thought over in his head, Peter B thought that maybe he felt the same way. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Did I just say that Peter B has a love for Australian Alt Rock bands purely for my own enjoyment? Yes. Do I feel like it could fit canonically? Hell yeah. </p><p>You Am I is a real band, by the way, and Hourly Daily is one of their albums. They have very melancholy/nostalgic/teenage rebellion vibes, so if you're into that kind of thing... I'd highly recommend a listen. Honestly, I'd recommend listening to any bands casually mentioned in this story because I have a strong love for all kinds of music. </p><p>Also, can I say: writing with American lingo is so annoying. I have to consciously remember that I'm writing in a different jargon, because all I want to do is say "the doona on the bed" but then I'm like "no one is gonna know what the fuck a 'doona' is, so now I have to say 'duvet'." Also, elementary school and middle school. What is that shit? I don't know if eleven year olds go to middle school or elementary, but in this universe they apparently go to elementary. </p><p>Anyway, rant over. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! If so, comments and kudos are very welcome.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Two Sets of Sabotage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Another interlude (because it's important to know what's shaped our heroes, isn't it?). </p><p>Warnings for this chapter in the end notes.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As hard as he tried to keep them separate, Peter B. Parker and Spider-Man would still bleed into each other, ruining lives on both sides. </p><p>Spider-Man suffered the human aspects of Peter B. Parker. Peter B. Parker suffered the super aspects of Spider-Man. A recurring process, a cycle. <em> Do, rinse, repeat.  </em></p><p>---</p><p>When Spider-Man wasn’t on time, that was Peter B. Parker’s perpetual lateness talking. While in human life that could be considered funny, or brushed under the rug, in super life, time meant absolutely <em> everything </em>. </p><p>Spider-Man attended an armed robbery, saved a cashier from being held at gunpoint. The criminal was packed away into a police car and driven down to the station, leaving Spider-Man to help the shaken cashier and call him a cab home, before clearing some of the smashed store-front glass from the sidewalk and preventing civilian injuries. </p><p>If he hadn’t been so busy scraping the glass in against the wall, Spider-Man would have heard the sound of a woman screaming. He would have run to help her, would have saved her life. </p><p>Instead, he heard the gunshot that ended it. Running, he skidded into the alley the sound had bounced out of and… nothing. No criminals there to arrest. Only a naked girl, lying with her body dumped behind the cover of a dumpster, blood oozing across the ground and away from her drooping head, spreading like a dark and hellish halo. </p><p>He sprinted forward, dragged her battered body in close to his. Pressing his fingers to her neck, he tried to look for a pulse and found one, a faint, fluttering thing that was becoming weaker and weaker by the second, unable to be preserved, impossible to revive. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her eyelids flickering. At that last, final exhale, her body fell completely limp. </p><p>Brushing her hair from her face, Peter B tried to think if he knew her. He'd have to go to her home, tell her parents what had happened. Explain why he wasn't there, try to make up some bullshit excuse about cleaning the streets of glass, even though there was clearly a more immediate threat just around the corner and he hadn't responded because… because even if he was super, he was only super<em> human </em>. </p><p>This poor girl had suffered because of him. </p><p>Looking down at her abused, naked body, he realised he should be calling the police. The task seemed impossible, though, given the way his throat was closing up and constricting his breathing, preventing him from being able to focus on where he was, let alone his phone screen and trembling fingers. </p><p>No, he had to call someone else. He couldn’t stomach a conversation with a cop. </p><p>“Baby boy!” Wade’s cheerful voice came through the speaker. “What’s up?” </p><p>“Can you…” Peter B’s voice cut out. His throat felt closed up and tight. </p><p>“You still there, babe?” Wade asked. “You’re cutting out.” </p><p>“Can you come?” Peter B asked. </p><p>“I wanna make a joke really bad, but I feel like this is the wrong time,” Wade said. </p><p>Peter B coughed, praying that would clear his throat long enough to get a full sentence out. “Can you please come to an alleyway? Near your place. Twenty metres from <em> Waffle Bite.” </em> </p><p>“Sure thing. You need me to bring anything, or just my gorgeous mug?” Wade asked. </p><p>“A change of clothes?” Peter B said. </p><p>“Oh, <em> saucy. </em>Be right there, baby, hold on.” Wade disconnected the call. </p><p>The girl’s body was already growing cold in his arms. He could feel the freeze of her skin seeping through his suit, like he was standing in the middle of Antarctica, naked and alone, the same as the girl probably felt as she laid in the alleyway, dying. Those few minutes spent waiting for Wade were the loneliest he’d ever felt in his whole life - and he’d gone his entire high school life feeling like a lovable reject. All these years he’d had so many friends but always felt lonely, unsatisfied with any companionship the world could give him. Well, until he met Wade. </p><p>Wade had cured his normal loneliness with his quirky jokes and incessant talking, but Peter B wasn’t sure Wade could help him now. It felt as though the world was against him, turning a cold, blind eye on his failure to do his job. </p><p>“Oh, baby boy.” Wade’s voice came from the end of the alley. </p><p>Peter B looked up at him, feeling like a cornered animal. Maybe Wade wouldn’t understand, maybe he’d blame Peter B, maybe he’d be angry at him, maybe-</p><p>“Didn’t get there quick enough, hey?” Wade padded forward slowly, his voice gentle. He had some clothes bundled under his arm, which he put on the ground as he knelt down in front of Peter B and surveyed the situation. </p><p>“I only-” Peter B’s voice cut out. He coughed. “I only heard the bullet.” </p><p>“You can’t save ‘em all, bucko.” Wade put a comforting hand on Peter B’s shoulder. “I brought these clothes for her, I’m assuming?” </p><p>Peter B nodded, not trusting himself to talk without bawling his eyes out like some blubbering <em> idiot. </em> The warmth of Wade’s hand was only making him lose morale quicker. He wanted nothing more than to break down and cry, maybe throw himself into a brick wall and put him out of his misery for a while. Swallowing, he focused on the task at hand, unwrapping his arms from the dead girl and helping Wade dress her, refusing to utter a single word and give himself away. </p><p>Spider-Man had already fucked up tonight because of Peter B. Parker. He didn’t need to start crying, too. Humans cried, not superheroes. Humans were weak, not superheroes. Humans were late, not superheroes. He’d had enough of being both. </p><p>“Stop beating yourself up,” Wade said when they’d finished. The girl was propped up, sitting with her back leant against the cracked brick wall of the alleyway. </p><p>Peter B couldn’t get rid of the lump in his throat. </p><p>“Webs, I’m serious. This isn’t your fault.” Wade’s voice was low, but not dangerous. Concern edged his tone, becoming more apparent when he grabbed Peter B’s arms with his hands and forced Peter B to face him front-on. “Look at me.” </p><p>Peter B did as Wade asked, a little shocked when he was met with the sight of Wade’s bare face, his blue eyes boring into Peter B’s soul. </p><p>“This isn’t your fault, okay? You can’t be everywhere at once, that’s not how this superhero biz works.” Wade nudged Peter B’s cheek with his thumb. “Now, I’m gonna call the cops and we’re gonna get the fuck outta here, yeah? Get an ice cream. You look like you could use it.” </p><p>He didn't deserve that kind of treatment; he'd let a girl die. </p><p>"Babe, I'm not doing anything til I get a yes. Work with me here." Wade nudged Peter B's cheek a little more insistently. </p><p>Peter B felt his shoulders crumple into a slouch as he nodded. </p><p>"Gimme a sec." Wade held up a gloved finger, pulling his phone out, typing quickly and holding it to his ear. As he waited for the call to be picked up, he sauntered away from Peter B, standing at the mouth of the alleyway. </p><p>The distance between them was probably so Wade could spare Peter B from hearing as he reported the 'rape and murder' of the young woman sitting at Peter B's feet. It was a futile attempt, not putting Peter B's mind at any ease, though the gesture was kind. </p><p>Wade ended the call and walked back to Peter B, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and guiding him out of the alleyway, whispering reassurances that Peter B couldn't hear over the pounding of his head. </p><p>People gave them strange looks as they walked through the streets, probably curious as to why Spider-Man was being guided along like a child by the mercenary Deadpool. Behind raised hands they whispered, staring through the corners of their eyes and a few even snapping photos on cameras they had. It was as if the whole world was watching, ready to pass its judgement and condemn Peter B. </p><p>Wade kept a firm grip on his shoulders every step of the way, still murmuring with his voice low, a pleasant (though concerning) change from his usual snark. Guilt passed through Peter B in waves at the way Wade was touching him, hands soft, like Peter B might break. </p><p>He’d let an innocent girl <em> die, </em> and Wade was there, treating him like <em> he </em>was the victim, like Peter B was the one who’d been assaulted, not that poor, nameless young lady who’d been senselessly murdered, her life taken from her before it could even really begin. Why hadn't he been there to save her? She could've gone on to become a significant engineer or medical researcher, saved lives herself. Even if she wasn’t destined to be someone brilliant, she still had a family and friends who cared about her and would be devastated by the news of her suffering. He hadn’t even caught the culprits, so there was a chance her relations would never know what truly happened to that poor girl and why her death was allowed to occur. </p><p>“And here I was, thinking the thought boxes were loud,” Wade said, speaking at normal volume. The noise jarred Peter B’s hearing and he jumped. </p><p>“What?” Peter B almost stopped dead in his tracks, but Wade pushed him on. </p><p>“I can hear your thoughts. Well, not really. I can <em> feel </em>them oozing out of your big ol’ brain,” Wade said, “relax, baby boy, I’m here to take care of you. Stop worrying about stuff for like, five minutes, then we can negotiate from there. Okay?” </p><p>“I can’t help it.” Peter B’s voice sounded broken and despondent, foreign to even his own ears. </p><p>Wade sighed. “I know, honey,” he said, voice heavy. His personality snapped back to bright and bubbly when he pushed Peter B forward again with a skip. “C’mon, ice cream place is just around the corner.” </p><p>Stepping into the ice cream place and ordering helped Peter B take his mind off what had happened for a few minutes. Being in there, surrounded by painted rainbow walls and smiling people, he felt out of place, the feeling further pushed by the way he was cowering behind Wade, a hulking red-and-black visage that was as displaced as he was. The mindlessness of browsing the ice cream flavours (with the knowledge that ultimately, he’d pick the same one as always, mocha) was soothing. Wade, of course, picked whatever flavour sounded the most ridiculous to him. He held his cone proudly in Peter B’s face, claiming it was called ‘hip-hop tip-top’. What that meant, Peter B had no idea. </p><p>They climbed up onto a rooftop with their ice creams, settling down with their legs over the edge and watching the bright lights of the city below, the noise of late-night traffic drifting up through the air. Peter B felt bad, sitting on the roof with ice cream. What was he, a kid? He should’ve been out patrolling, helping people on the street. </p><p>Yet he was sitting on the roof in the company of a friend he didn’t deserve, ignoring his duties. </p><p>“Alright, tell me what happened,” Wade said suddenly, breaking the silence. He’d finished his ice cream, wiping the last of it from around his mouth and chin. </p><p>“I fucked up,” Peter B said, “big time.” </p><p>“Our definitions of ‘I fucked up’ are <em> very </em> different, babe. You’re gonna have to explain a little better than that.” Wade kicked his legs against the side of the building, eerily reminiscent of a child. </p><p>“I was attending a robbery. Robber had a gun, whatever. I took him out, the cops got him and then I was helping the cashier and cleaning the glass off the street - I don’t know why, I should’ve just left it or webbed it or something - and then there’s this… gunshot.” His throat was closing up again, but he swallowed back the lump and pushed on. “I ran to the alleyway and that girl was there and she was dead and… it’s my fault.” </p><p>A silence. Then, “How is it your fault?” Wade asked. </p><p>“Because I should’ve been there, I should’ve - I dunno - <em> heard </em> something happening and instead I was cleaning fucking glass off the footpath like a fucking idiot!” Peter B yelled, kicking his feet into the air viciously. Chest heaving and constricted, he felt like he couldn’t breathe, like maybe he was finally going to die and it wasn’t going to be in battle like he always thought, but instead it’d be when he was all alone and feeling shitty; that was what he deserved, anyway. </p><p>“You know how big New York is?” Wade asked. “Because Spidey, it’s fucking <em> huge. </em>You seriously think that because you missed one crime, you deserve to be punished for that? Baby boy, you are the only one saving this city from fucking oblivion. No one does a better job at their job than you do. That girl? If society did its fucking job, she wouldn’t have to worry about being unsafe when she walks the streets at night. Keeping the world safe isn’t your job, Spidey. Your job is fighting crime, not societal norms. That girl getting raped is a societal norm. Sure, it’s a crime too, but first and foremost, it’s some fucked up shit with our society. Your job isn’t to save everyone. It’s to help people where you can. That’s what I love about you, ya know?” </p><p>“‘Helping’ isn’t enough,” Peter B said, small and feeble. Despite his verbal refusal to believe Wade, he admittedly felt more at ease. Believing everything was society’s fault made things easier, though whether that was a good or bad thing, he couldn’t tell anymore. Maybe it meant he was losing sight of his morals, making bullshit excuses and losing sight of righteousness. </p><p>“But it has to be. You don’t have any other options, Spidey. Crime isn’t some click-and-select shit, there’s so much stuff going on and it’s going on <em> all </em> the <em> fucking time </em> . You’ve gotta adapt.” Wade put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s the only expectation here. You’ve gotta adapt and learn and grow, because there’s no other option. And that’s enough. Not just for me, for everyone. Sure, people can say ‘superheroes need to save the world’ but that’s like a white guy trying to convince someone he knows the struggles of Black slavery in the eighteen hundreds! These people have got no fucking clue what they’re talking about. Hell, <em> I </em> have no idea what I’m talking about, here! I’m no super. I’m just some fucked up guy that got ‘lucky’.” </p><p>“I’m not a proper super, though. I’m like you; just a guy who got picked for the job. I’m so out of my depth, all the time. I’ve got no idea what the fuck I’m doing. I just feel like I’m screwing up every chance I get. Like I can’t do anything right.” The ice cream was starting to melt on Peter B’s hand, so he gave it an angry lick. </p><p>Wade chuckled wryly. “Spidey, you’re the only one who ever does anything right. Trust me.” </p><p>“Then why do I feel like I’m failing all the time?” Peter B asked. </p><p>“Imposter Syndrome, baby boy. Nothing you do is gonna be good enough for you. You convince yourself you’ve failed. You brush off achievements and downplay them.” Wade squeezed his shoulder. “It would be cute and endearing if it meant you didn’t fuck yourself over so royally.” </p><p>“Why do you stick around?” Peter B asked. “If I’m so fucked in the head, why? And sure, say it’s because you’re fucked too, but I’m serious. I’m a nutcase.” </p><p>“I don’t really know why. ‘Cause I love you, I guess.” Wade shrugged. </p><p>Peter laughed, aware of how choked and forced it sounded. “You love me? But why? I’m the absolute worst, there’s nothing good about me. I let girls get murdered on the streets, I let Uncle Ben die, I treat you like shit.” </p><p>“Baby, if you’re the worst, then what the fuck does that make me?” Wade let go of Peter’s shoulder in favour of turning his whole body to face him. “You’re the best fucking person I know. I’ve done so much fucked up shit over the years, but you’ve shown me there’s another way I can live my life. I’ve turned my shit around, all because of you. All because you showed me there was another path I could take and you fucking led me to it, like you were Jesus or some shit!” </p><p>“I’m Jewish,” Peter B couldn’t help saying when Wade paused, “we don’t believe Jesus was the Messiah.” </p><p>“Okay, then you were like Moses! You showed me this life I could live and you saved me, Spidey. You saved my life. That’s not your job and you did it anyway. So, if you ever say that you treat me like shit again, I’ll- I’ll do bad things. Because you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like shit.” Wade’s gaze was intense and direct, holding Peter B in place for a few frigid moments. The tension in his shoulders dissipated and he smiled. “Besides ‘Nessa, obvi.” </p><p>“You can’t die, how did I save your life?” Peter B asked. Avoiding the more serious things Wade said with humour was good, he could do that well. </p><p>Wade sighed, grabbing Peter B’s shoulders and shaking them. “Metaphorically, not literally. Oh my God, you are the smartest and dumbest dude I know. Now, are you gonna finish that ice cream, or not? I wanna do something.” </p><p>Peter B furrowed his eyebrows in question, but Wade waved him off and insisted he eat. When he’d scoffed the rest of his food down, he turned to Wade again. </p><p>“What?” Peter B watched as Wade got up and stood, staring at Peter B expectantly. </p><p>“C’mere.” Wade waved his arms frantically, beckoning Peter B over. </p><p>Stepping slowly and unsurely, Peter B went over to Wade, stopping a metre in front of him. “What?” </p><p>Wade lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Peter in a bear hug, enveloping his body and squeezing him. Giggling, Peter B hugged him back, feeling his insides go all gooey at the sensation of warmth that spread across his skin, a comforting heat that Wade constantly gave off in waves. Bear hugs from Wade were something Peter B didn’t let happen often enough, always distancing himself because he didn’t think he deserved it. Comfort, love and affection… he didn’t deserve them. </p><p>It was a few minutes before Wade let him go, stepping away only slightly. </p><p>“You want me to walk you home, baby boy?” Wade asked. </p><p>“Nah, you’ve gotta get back to Van,” Peter B said. “Tell her I said ‘hi’, yeah?” </p><p>“Of course.” Wade smiled. </p><p>Lingering, Peter B debated how he would thank Wade. </p><p>"I know what you're thinking," Wade said, holding up a finger, "I will take a 'thank you' hug. Nothing else. Especially no apologising, because you're very good at apologising for things you shouldn't be sorry for." </p><p>"Thanks, Wade." Peter B pulled Wade in for another hug, as asked, resting his head on Wade's shoulder. "Dunno where I'd be without you." </p><p>"Much healthier, that's for sure." Wade pressed a chaste kiss to the side of his head and pulled away. "Okay babe, I gotta skedaddle. See you 'round." </p><p>"See ya." Peter B watched as Wade leapt over the side of the building and onto the fire escape below, making the metal rattle and creak. </p><p>Shouts came from inside the building, answered with more crashing and swearing from Wade. Before a fight could start, Peter B jumped off the building and webbed away, flying through the air and keeping an ear out for crime. </p><p>The rest of the night went smoothly. </p><p>---</p><p>When Peter B. Parker couldn’t defend himself, that was Spider-Man’s superstrength talking. While in the superhero world, that was a useful power to have, it meant his human self was limited, afraid of accidentally hurting someone. </p><p>"Hey, handsome. What's a pretty thing like you over there all by yourself?" A slurred, drunken voice called from the bar. </p><p>Peter B hunkered down at his table in the corner, ignoring the man yelling and instead focusing on the icy soda in his hands. Coming here tonight hadn’t been his idea and it was as if the whole bar had gotten the memo, every patron trying to do their best to make him uncomfortable, each contender outdoing the last. Peter B was dangerously close to ripping his hair out and stomping back onto the street, but he’d made a promise. </p><p>Flash, Ned and a few other guys were still dancing and drinking hard, flirting with girls and living it up. They’d tried to get Peter B involved, but while coming here as the designated driver was one thing, getting drunk and risking still being considered sober enough to be the designated driver was another. </p><p>Ignoring his spidey sense (which had been going off all night) Peter B stepped up to the bar and ordered what he hoped would be his final drink of the night. The drunk who’d called to him before was off skulking around the dance floor, though Peter B still felt uneasy and threatened. Everything about his position was exposed, with people able to see him from every side. </p><p>He got back to his table without incident, dodging drunken dancers and managing to not spill his soda. Sighing, he set his drink down and went back to watching the crowded dance floor, keeping an eye out for Ned in particular, as he’d had the most drinks out of all the men and would potentially cause a lot of trouble when it was finally home time. All of the guys had a pretty girl on their arms, shouting and dancing with grins on their faces. The last few weeks had been tough on businesses, with the end of the financial year having just passed and so the guys had organised to meet up and let loose, celebrating all their hard work. </p><p>A tingling spike shot through the back of Peter B’s neck and he tensed up, wondering what was going to happen. Moments later, a hand was resting quite low on his back and a young woman swung into view from the left, pupils looking dilated and the whites of her eyes bloodshot. </p><p>“Heya handsome,” she slurred, leaning her elbow onto the table and looking up at him. “Whacha up to?” </p><p>“Not much.” It was an effort to not push her away or snap at her, but she was clearly on drugs of some sort and was going to put herself in harm’s way if he let her go flirt with some other person who wasn’t as nice as he was - there was a high chance someone would take her flirting as an excuse to do something regrettable. </p><p>“Why aren’t you out dancin’ along with all ya lil’ friends?” She asked, pouting her lips. Her fingers rubbed against his back, drifting even further down. </p><p>Peter B turned to face her fully, stepping back in hopes her hand would slip away. “Designated driver.” </p><p>“Maybe you could just,” she matched his movement, stepping closer to him and wrapping her arm around his waist, “call ‘em a cab, call it a night. I could show you a good time.” </p><p>“I’d rather not,” Peter B said. His hands were shaking, the slightest tremor running up and along his arms. </p><p>Her arm grew tighter around him, her boozy breath hitting his face. “Just say yes. It’ll make it easier for both of us, trust me.” </p><p>“Please let go of me,” Peter B grabbed her arm and gave it a warning tug. </p><p>“What are you gonna do?” She got up on her toes, her spare hand grabbing his forearm and gripping it hard between her nails, digging in. “You wouldn’t hit a lady, now, would ya?” </p><p>“I don’t wanna hurt you. Please let go.” Peter B pulled her arm away, cringing when she responded by squeezing his waist. </p><p>“I can make you feel good.” Her hand drifted lower, grabbing his ass through his jeans and giving it a firm squeeze. </p><p>“You’re drunk,” Peter B told her, like that was going to change the situation, “and on drugs. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” </p><p>The woman laughed. “Oh, I don’t think I could regret this.” She pressed her lips to his. </p><p>A bad mixture of panic and spidey sense surged through him and before Peter B could stop himself, he’d shoved the woman away, sending her sprawling onto a table and knocking it over. Drinks fell to the ground with a splash, glass shattering everywhere. Every head in the bar snapped their way, curious as to what the commotion was all about, shouting and yelling rising above the thump of the music. </p><p>Frozen, Peter B stared in shock at the damage he’d caused. He hadn’t meant to push her that hard, only meaning to break her grip on him, but in his state of panic he’d sent her flying. That was his super strength talking. What if he was found out? Everyone was watching him now; he couldn’t do anything else suspicious. </p><p>Before he could cause anymore damage, Peter B rushed out of the club, pushing past dazed drunks and trying his best to ignore the shouting that was erupting all around him. Bursting out the doors and into the fresh night air felt good, the cold stunning his senses for a moment and allowing him to recollect his thoughts. Despite his newly gained coherency, Peter B’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. </p><p>He probably looked like a lunatic, standing in the dimly lit parking lot of the club and clapping his hands, but it was one of the best ways to calm himself down. </p><p>“Dude, if you wanted to leave so bad, you could’ve gotten our attention some other way!” Flash and the rest of the guys had come into the parking lot, ambling over in a drunken sway. </p><p>“Was she okay? Fuck. Why did I walk out like that?” Peter B groaned, tugging his hands through his hair. </p><p>“She was fine, man. Got straight back up and ordered herself a drink.” Flash patted his back. “Let’s get going, hey? <em> Fuck, </em>I’ve had a night.” </p><p>Peter B unlocked the Flash’s work van and made sure the guys were safe as they all piled in. Ned fell out of the car and almost smashed his face onto the pavement, but Peter B caught him and strapped in his seatbelt before anything else could happen. </p><p>As they drove, some of the guys tried to bait Peter B into conversation, asking why he’d pushed the girl away and caused such a commotion. Peter B waved them off and told them they were distracting him from the road, insisting on that half-truth until they gave up and started slurring between themselves. </p><p>Pulling up to Ned’s house, Peter B decided it would be a good idea to hand him a vomit bag, just in case. He pulled it from the glove box and pressed it into Ned’s hands. </p><p>Ned, of course, vomited the moment he got out of the car. And, <em> of course, </em>he didn’t do it into the bag Peter B had given him. No, he vomited all over the pavement and nature strip, coughing and wheezing by the end of it. Tears streaming down his face and a silly grin stretched across his lips, Ned bid Flash and Peter B goodnight, stumbling up to his house and through the front door after he’d finally unlocked it with his floundering hands. </p><p>“Why didn’t you fool around with that girl at the bar?” Flash asked Peter B when they were alone in the van together. “It’s not like she wasn’t your type.” </p><p>“I wasn’t feeling it,” Peter B said, “plus, she was drunk and high.” </p><p>Flash scoffed. “And? What, you’ve never done it with a drunk girl before?” </p><p>“No.” Peter B glanced at him sharply, but made sure to keep his focus on the road. </p><p>“Oh my God, Pete, I didn’t mean in a <em> rapey </em> way, I just meant, like… you’re both drunk and having a good time, whatever.” Flash rolled his eyes. </p><p>“That translates to me as ‘both of you are too drunk to actually consent’,” Peter B said. </p><p>“Then doesn’t it cancel out?” Flash asked. </p><p>“That is <em> not </em>how consent works, bud,” Peter B sighed, “pull your head in.” </p><p>Flash nodded. “Sure. Just sayin’ though, man. She was pretty into you.” </p><p>“And I wasn’t into her. I asked her - <em> multiple </em>times - to let go of me. She didn’t and I panicked. It happens, sometimes,” Peter B said. “And just ‘cause things are shitty with MJ, I’m not gonna make it worse.” </p><p>“Yeah, it’s basically cheating if you know she’s gonna be asking to get back together in a week.” Flash chuckled, shaking his head. </p><p>“It’s more complicated than that,” Peter B said. </p><p>“Too complicated,” Flash shook his head again, “I dunno why you stick around with her, man. I mean, sure, she’s hot, but you two don’t make a good couple. You know it.” </p><p>“Stop talking, Flash.” Peter B sighed. </p><p>Flash stayed quiet. </p><p>After a few minutes of frigid silence, Peter B pulled the van up outside Flash’s apartment block. Flash offered him a place to stay for the night, but Peter B turned the offer down and told Flash he’d be catching the bus home instead. </p><p>For once, Peter B was telling the truth. He wasn't going to web off and go on patrol tonight; he'd head straight home and contemplate all his life choices to a point where he felt physically sick, a hobby he’d taken up recently. </p><p>Even though Flash was drunk, he had made good points about Peter B's relationship with MJ. She'd broken up with him for the third time this year, saying he didn't trust her and that he didn't want to even try and lead the normal life he'd always wanted. In a few days, they'd make up and Peter B would say he was going to get better, because that's what he always said and that's what MJ always believed. </p><p>Maybe if he just saved the world again, donned the suit… maybe the streets would get quiet enough so he could take a break for a few weeks, be with MJ and really explore their relationship. It was strange being with her after all those years of friendship, but Peter B didn't think he could've done it any other way - he didn't trust people enough and it wasn't only the Spider-Man bullshit but it was <em>all </em>the bullshit, all the emotional baggage and overthinking and utter stupidity he lugged around constantly. MJ didn't mind it when they were friends, though now that they were together… Peter often had his doubts. </p><p>It could've been the crippling self esteem issues he had, the 'Imposter Syndrome' stuff that Wade had told him about, but those reasons didn't feel right. There was something else that he wasn't seeing or maybe ignoring on purpose - he did that often, dismissing all the times it had come back to bite him in the ass (which was every time). </p><p>Maybe the things MJ was saying about ‘being normal’ were starting to get to him. As the years dragged on, it became harder for Peter B to become Spider-Man, to give into that super part of himself and use it in a way that would make Uncle Ben proud. Every twenty-four hour period that passed, he seemed to be screwing up both of his lives as a super and as a human, making mistakes that could one day cost his own life, not only that of others. The thought scared him shitless, really. </p><p>As he boarded the bus and rocked along while it drove, he thought about the empty apartment he’d be returning to. Part of him hoped Wade would pop up there randomly and demand a rematch on a video game or something, but another part of him knew that when Wade was around, things got… complicated. </p><p>Peter B felt good around Wade, like he was worth something. Feeling good turned into feeling guilty, because then Peter B would remember MJ and how he should be more dedicated to her than Wade. Guilt turned into him running away and suiting up, which meant he inevitably crossed paths with Wade again and further set forward the guilt, which grew even <em> worse </em>when he got back home to MJ, who would be upset because Peter B wouldn’t tell her why he felt so guilty all the time and ran away from her and it was all a big kerfuffle that he didn’t understand because he barely understand his own feelings, let alone how to articulate them. </p><p>So yeah, things with Wade were a little ‘complicated’ - an overly simple way of explaining it. </p><p>But, no matter how many problems he faced, no matter how many times he got kicked down and pushed around… he was Peter B. Parker, Spider-Man, the hero of New York. </p><p>And he wouldn’t have it any other way. </p><p>Would he? </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warning: Mention of rape/sexual assault and/or harassment. </p><p> </p><p>Oh yes, Flash is around. And... he's okay? Not great, but okay? Whack.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. On the Case</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wade and Gwen make a pretty good team, but where the hell is Petey when you need him?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“This is the second batch of these guys.” Gwen toed at one of the crumpled bodies beside her, rolling it over to reveal the face of a man with several knives strapped to his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a little suspicious, sure.” Wade crouched down to get a better look. This was one of his sleep-gun victims, completely unconscious and unaware as Wade patted his body down and came up with a wallet and a condom. “Man, this guy thinks he’s gonna get any action goin’ around throwing knives at people? Wish I had that kinda confidence, to be honest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we focus here? Please?” Gwen asked, taking the wallet from him. She wasn’t quick enough for Wade to miss the small smile tugging at her lips, a faint shape under the mask and eye mesh scrunched slightly at the corners. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There any ID?” Wade peered over her shoulder, feeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> oversized. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Had Petey ever been this small when he was younger? Yeah, he had been.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Thin and wiry, but packing one mean fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>punch</span>
  </em>
  <span> with those bony fists, one that’d knock a guy even bigger than Wade flat on his ass. Having seen Gwen in action, with her fast, smooth movements and cutthroat, no-nonsense attitude, he had no doubts that she was the same, hiding a great deal of power behind an otherwise fragile-looking physique. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen pulled a driver’s license from the wallet. “Dennis Hibreck. Sound familiar?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kinda? 'Hibreck' does and that’s a pretty fucking weird surname, so…” Wade took the card from her, holding it close to his eyes. The gaze of the man was familiar, as well as the nose and the chin. “I’ll ask a couple contacts. Maybe some clients. If there’s another group of these big bastards and they’re targeting Spideys, surely they’re working for someone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re much more sane than my Wade,” Gwen said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve had a couple more years to get over my emo phase.” Wade folded the card away into his pocket. "I'm gonna grab a few more IDs from these assholes and see if I know any of 'em. That good with you, Websy?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sounds good to me." Gwen went to grab IDs, handing them back to Wade when they'd both finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stacking the cards, Wade slipped them into one of his pouches. After the patrol, he'd have to take them into Weasel and see what kind of intel could be scraped up. Two of the names sounded familiar already, Hibreck and Dummer (which Wade giggled at, because the name seemed a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>suitable), though Wade couldn't pinpoint where exactly he'd heard them or why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll take you down to the ground, then I'm splitting," Gwen said. "It's been cool hanging with you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Beating up bad guys is always cool when you're with me." Wade gave her a cocky smirk and shot finger guns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you've ruined it." It came out dry, but he could hear the laughter in the back of her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without waiting for Wade to go on a tangent, Gwen </span>
  <em>
    <span>thwip</span>
  </em>
  <span>-ed him and tossed him over the edge of the roof, lowering him to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks Spider-Woman!" Wade yelled up at the roof, slicing through the Spider-goo stuck to his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand popped over the edge to wave, then disappeared again. To avoid awkwardness, Wade decided to give Gwen some time to head back to his place and grab her hoodie before he started heading back himself - coming across someone when you've already said your goodbyes was only a little awkies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sister Margaret's didn't get busy too early in the night, so Wade decided it would be better to get there as quickly as possible and leave again to head home. All the drama with Petey in the past few days was starting to catch up with him, making him feel way too socially exhausted to endure the noise of drinking mercenaries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After popping into a variety store, Wade grabbed some materials to repair his suit, which had been ripped and punctured by knives from those groups he and Gwen had fought. The material got tucked away into his belt and he set off again, avoiding busy streets and traffic as he walked to Sister Margaret’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shouting assaulted Wade’s ears the moment he stepped into Sister Margaret’s, a stool flying in his direction and smashing against the wall beside him. After the stool came a body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been gone three weeks and the first thing I come back to is Arky dying?” Wade grumbled as he walked over to the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gimme a sec,” Weasel said, pulling wads of cash from beneath the bar. “Alright, who betted Arky in the pool?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few mercs came forward to collect pay, though most of them hadn’t actually betted on Arky dying. Despite the pay-up, Weasel ended up with quite a bit of cash left over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finished up that contract.” Wade handed Weasel the gold card from the latest contract. As Weasel filed it away, he lowered his voice and said, “Was wondering if you could get some intel for me, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Weasel slid him some cash for the contract. “Sure. Whatcha got?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“IDs: names, faces, addresses. A lot to work with.” Wade pulled the ID cards from his pouch, piling them up on the bartop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll send it through a couple people, see what we come up with. Where’d you get this stuff, anyway?” Weasel slipped the cards under the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was out patrolling with a Spidey.” Wade shook his head, sighing. “Meant I couldn’t kill any of ‘em, so these are live targets.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A Spidey?” Weasel frowned. “Isn’t he outta the biz right now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no. Well, yeah, our Spidey is. It’s a different Spidey. Don’t worry, too hard to explain,” Wade said with a dismissive wave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Weasel nodded. “You staying for a drink?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I gotta go. Got some shit to take care of,” Wade said. “How long til you get that info back for me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many people was it? Ten? Might take a week or so. I’ll call you.” Weasel flicked his head to a different part of the bar where someone was calling his name. “Alright, I gotta serve this idiot before another fight breaks out. See ya ‘round, Wade.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently Weasel didn’t serve the order quick enough, because another fight broke out as Wade stepped onto the street, shutting the door behind him and muffling the shouting inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Where we headed, Dipshit? </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>You should clean up before you go to Hotstuff’s.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys have been awfully quiet.” Wade muttered as he pulled his phone out and checked his notifications. Nothing interesting. No messages from Petey, either. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not that he usually messages. Nothing to worry about. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Nothing interesting was happening. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>That translates to ‘Hotstuff wasn’t there’.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you deciding to talk for a reason now, or are you just bored?” Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Bored. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Bored.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Well, I’m gonna go home and then I’ll head to Petey’s. Maybe grab some food on the way,” Wade said. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>If you don’t tell Cutie you’re in love with him soon, I’m gonna lose my mind. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>You’ve already lost it, bud. But I do agree with the notion of telling Hotstuff.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Wade said, “but not yet. He’s got enough on his plate right now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You’re just pussying out. Again. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Yellow do be spittin’ fax, doe.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never say that again. Ever,” Wade said sharply. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>But… I do be! </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>This is homophobia. I can say whatever I want! See: Penis! Butthole! Wade’s a pussy! Dick!</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna blow my fucking brains out.” Wade sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Please do. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>No, you’re so sexy… don’t kill yourself, ahahaha…</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quoting memes isn’t gonna make this any better,” Wade grumbled, but couldn’t keep the smile from his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Lies! Memes make everything better!</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Especially Vine. Fuck, I miss Vine. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade nodded, frowning in thought. “Same, bud. Big RIP to Vine. You made everything better.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Isn’t the whole point of you being in the Peter B. Parker universe that you’re older?</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Yeah! So, isn’t it kinda weird we’re fangirling about Vine? Seriously, what crusty-ass forty-year-olds do you know like Vine? </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Your mom!</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Grow up, limp dick. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade sighed and ignored the thought boxes as they divulged into a conversation consisting of petty insults and low blows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Down the street was his apartment block. Looking up, he could see that Gwen had remembered to drop past and grab her hoodie, closing the window when she’d finished. The drug addict they’d encountered on the way into the apartment block had left, leaving no trace of himself besides a black stain on the floor. Wade briefly pondered on the cause of the stain, but ditched the thought and decided an answer wasn’t something worth having. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dead silence hung in the air as Wade drifted through the building, the creaking of the elevator an eerie reprise. In the time it took for the elevator to crawl up to Wade’s floor, Wade checked over his weapons and made sure they were still all intact. New bullets - rubber and poison - would be needed after today’s events. Grenades, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade dumped his weapons on the floor the moment he stepped into the apartment, not really interested in cleaning everything up just yet. A cold feeling was gnawing at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Something was oddly… wrong. It could have been something small, like the air seeming colder than usual or the streetlight from outside being dimmer than it normally was, but there was something else lurking, something much more sinister and strange that he couldn’t get a grasp on. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe this is how Petey feels with his weird-ass Spidey sense. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling his phone out, Wade debated if he should call Petey and ask him if he felt it too. The more he thought about it, the more stupid it sounded, but one could never be too cautious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The call went to voicemail and Wade hung up. There was no point in worrying; Petey rarely answered phone calls or texts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shower or clean?” Wade asked aloud. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Shower. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Shower.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cleaning it is, then!” Wade clapped his hands and rubbed them together. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>You’re a cunt. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Jesus, Yellow, that’s… wow, okay. Intense.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was joking, fuck.” Wade chuckled to himself, stepping carefully through the apartment and to the bathroom, stripping off as he went. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>One boring shower later…</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>(In which he definitely jerked off to thoughts of Cutie…)</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a fucking lie!” Wade yelled at the ceiling. “I’ll have you know that I was thinking of Andrew Garfield, thank you very much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Same shit, different twink. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Hotstuff is </span>
    <em>
      <span>not </span>
    </em>
    <span>a twink!</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Well he’s not a hunk, either! </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>He’s a hunk in my eyes &lt;3</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a fucking twunk,” Wade snapped. “Well, he used to be. Can’t really be a twunk and have a dad bod but oh my God, he still looks fuckng delicious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>He could be starring in </b>
  <b>
    <em>Six Hundred Pound Life</em>
  </b>
  <b> and you’d still be in love with him. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>That’s a mental image I didn’t need.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, I don’t know what to do with that picture that just came to mind. Bleach my eyes? Shoot myself? Fry my ears with an electrical appliance of some sort?” Wade pulled on some clothes, shaking his head and trying to get rid of the image of Petey in a humongous fat suit, sprawled across a bed. Those bed-related thoughts were definitely not as sexy as the ones that usually came to him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was still no response from Petey on his phone. Wade flopped down onto his couch and turned the TV on, flicking through the channels with his eyes closed and stopping on a random one. Unlike the rest of the world, Wade had never quite gotten on board with the whole ‘streaming services thing’. He preferred free, illegal streaming that wasn’t feeding back into the corporations that had already gone so far out of their way to fuck everyone over royally. Compared to the other illegal shit he did, using online websites for movies and shows was the most tame crime he could commit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yellow and White had gone into some discourse over whatever was on the TV, so Wade tuned them out and  took the opportunity to run over his thoughts in peace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That stuff with Gwen had been interesting. They’d bonded and he’d even managed to give her solid advice, make one of those big movie speeches with all that good, wise teaching thrown into it, the type of rousing speech that would make Colossus proud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was reassuring to know Petey had made himself some good friends in that year he’d been off the radar. Gwen seemed like a really great kid and had her heart in the right place, even if she wasn’t sure of it. Wade supposed she reminded him a little of that New Zealander kid, Russel. Emphasis on ‘she reminded him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little’, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because really, Gwen was nothing like Russel in any way other than the fact that she, like him, was a good kid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade filed away a mental note that he really had to work on his similes and analogies outside of combat-quips, because all of the ones he usually made sounded sexual or dumb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After an hour of watching some weird show about strangers getting married, Wade decided to head over to Petey’s place and check that he wasn’t passed out on the couch in an uncomfortable position or something. He shot off a text to warn Petey that he was coming over and left the apartment, taking the creaky elevator down and hailing a cab on the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey wasn’t home when Wade got there, so he flopped down on the couch and screwed around with his phone for a while. Another hour passed without any contact from Petey, so Wade shot him another text asking if he was okay and left it at that; there was always the chance he and Miles had gone on patrol, after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade ordered for some Indian food to be delivered, getting enough so that there’d be plenty of leftovers for Petey. Grocery shopping would have to be done tomorrow, as Wade would be home for at least a week since he didn’t have any contracts in progress. It would be a good time for gathering intel and sorting out the knife-gang business, to try and pinpoint who the culprits were and why they were so interested in attacking supers - </span>
  <em>
    <span>if </span>
  </em>
  <span>that was all they were interested in. Them branching out and attacking civilians was always a possibility, but given the fact that they had plenty of opportunity to do so already and hadn’t… that spoke volumes, in Wade’s opinion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The delivery guy dropped off the Indian food and left before Wade even got to the door. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Five star service, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wade chuckled to himself as he picked up the bag and swiped through his review of the guy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>did not get weirded out by my appearance because he didn’t even stop at the door. Millennial and Gen Z saviour. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Oh my God! Indian food! Yes! Yellow, I don’t want </span>
    <em>
      <span>naan </span>
    </em>
    <span>of your attitude tonight, got it?</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Kill yourself. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave him alone. Puns are funny!” Wade popped open one of the containers, breathing in the sweet and spicy scent. “I’d better </span>
  <em>
    <span>curry </span>
  </em>
  <span>up and eat while it’s still hot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>I hate both of you. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Please tell me you ordered a lassi, lassie.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mango?” Wade pulled out a mango lassi from the bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Get that inside us, right now.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Food/drink kink? </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade scrabbled around in Petey’s cutlery draw, finding a metal straw buried beneath a few miscellaneous cooking utensils. He prised open the lid of the lassi and dipped the straw in, taking a long sip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Tastes like actual fucking </span>
    <em>
      <span>heaven.</span>
    </em>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tell me about it, holy </b>
  <b>
    <em>fuck. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Spooning out rice and curry onto a plate, Wade served himself and closed all the containers again, filing them away into the fridge when he was done. To get comfortable on the couch, Wade sat cross-legged with a pillow in his lap, his plate sitting on top like it was a table. He put the lassi on the square armrest beside him, lifting it carefully to take a sip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two more hours passed, the sky turning pitch black outside and the yellow street lights flickering on. Wade got up from the couch and washed his plate, putting the mango lassi container in the bin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey hadn’t contacted him yet. Staying the night and waiting for him to come home was the best option, as it meant that Wade would know he was safe straight away and wouldn’t have to wait for Petey to contact him or drop by his apartment. A few years ago, Wade would have felt bad staying at Petey’s house like it was his own, but they’d grown too close over time for those kinds of worries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though him and Petey were close, there were still many areas in Petey’s bedroom that Wade didn’t touch. The bedside tables were one, as common sense said that bedside tables were for storing personal and sometimes fragile items. Petey’s desk was another thing Wade didn’t touch, because it was covered in sciencey knick-knacks that Wade was scared he would break or set off, most likely upsetting Petey in the process. Besides those two things, everything else was fair game, including the closet built into one of the walls, which Petey had allocated for Wade’s things specifically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Opening it, Wade could tell Petey had been wearing his clothes. Usually, Wade hung his clothes haphazardly and messily, with shoes dumped on the floor, overturned and away from their matching pair. He could tell Petey had been rummaging around, because all his clothes were hung in order depending on what they were: hoodies on the left, shirts next, then any jackets or other top-related items. Pants were folded neatly in a pile on top of a shoe cupboard, which actually had all the shoes stacked in it and sorted together for once. Wade’s hats - including a touristy ‘I &lt;3 Canada’ - were hanging on hooks in the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade pulled out pyjamas (because he always slept with clothes on around Petey) and got changed, dumping his clothes on the floor in front of the cupboard in a way that would make Petey sigh and ask Wade to put them in a laundry basket. Snuggling into Petey’s bed, Wade sighed blissfully, wrapping his arms around a pillow and imagining it was Petey’s stomach. It was probably weird </span>
  <em>
    <span>(definitely weird) </span>
  </em>
  <span>but it helped him sleep at night, especially when he woke up from something like a nightmare or was just having trouble getting out of his own head for a while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although they had never confirmed it out loud, Wade and Petey had come to an agreement of sorts: when one of them was feeling under the weather, they could reach out for a hug. It didn’t seem like a big deal to the outside world, but to Wade it meant everything. The idea that he could put his arms around Petey and pull him in close and Petey wouldn’t mind one bit, would even hug him back… it was comforting, especially after a life of being rejected physically and emotionally by every other person who was supposed to love him ‘unconditionally’. He couldn’t remember ever being hugged by either of his parents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only people who were happy to touch him were Petey and Vanessa. Wade had never been more grateful to have other people in his life until he met them, until he got to know them and love them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those memories with them could be visited later. Worry was already building its way into his mind and reminiscing about sad things would only make him feel worse. Hopefully Petey would get back home soon and crawl into bed, where Wade could curl up beside him and wonder if he'd ever get the balls to tell Petey how he felt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer was soon. Hopefully. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's coming soon my pretties, don't worry! Wade and Peter B will get there. </p><p>Also, mango lassi? I would die for her. Delicious.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. A Wander</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peter B's day just keeps getting better.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Peter B left Aunt May’s place as soon as he could. Waking up in the tool shed had been a painful experience, the familiar and yet unusual location startling his tired mind and making him feel unwell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a food truck at the edges of the city that him and Wade had really wanted to get something from for ages now, so he figured he could grab breakfast there and head home. Peni’s multiverse chat came to mind as he walked, so Peter B pulled his phone out to check it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing had happened on the chat besides an old conversation Peter B couldn’t be bothered reading through. Closing the app, he opened his messages instead, surprised to see a few notifications coming up beside Wade’s contact name. Wade had sent him a few messages asking if he was okay, had even called at one point and Peter B hadn’t picked up. Guilt washed over him as he looked through the times the messages were sent; all done last night, when Peter B was still awake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of him wanted to ring Wade back and explain what had happened, but Peter B was worried he’d end up blurting out all his thoughts to Wade on the phone, the last thing he wanted to be doing. If Wade really was in love with him and had been for years, a phone confession was the worst thing Peter B could give him. Wade was already emotionally damaged enough, without Peter B trying to add to all his issues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How Wade had forgiven Peter B so quickly for all the horrible shit he’d done in the past year, Peter B had no idea. At no point did he try and contact Wade, let him know that everything was fine (or not really 'fine', because friends should always tell each other the truth) and he didn’t even ask how Wade was doing, either. Now, if all that wasn’t bad enough, he was going to be crawling back to Wade after yet another night of being a horrible friend, suddenly deciding to confess his love, something he’d never had the guts to do before. Wade would probably think it was suspicious, which he would have every right to feel, given that Peter B was rejected by MJ only three weeks ago and had been depressed since then. None of this was fair on Wade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Confessing his feelings to Wade was wrong, but withholding them was probably worse. If Wade didn’t feel the same way, that was fine, Peter B could get over that with no hard feelings. Then again, he had a history of not handling rejection very well and there was a chance that if Wade told Peter B to fuck off, he’d fall back into that hard pit of depression, because it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>depression, he'd decided. No more games and tricks, if he wanted to get better he'd have to stop denying it. He wasn't out of the woods, either. Sure, he'd pushed through that hang-out with Miles and hadn't lost his shit when he got stuck in that other dimension, but now he was feeling drained and a tad shitty with the world, hyper-aware of every glance that came his way from other people. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to go and talk to Wade. No more thinking it over. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B ordered breakfast from the famous food truck, grabbing an extra order to take back to his apartment and give to Wade. As he walked down the street and into the edges of the city, a sleek black limousine pulled up beside him. The window rolled down slowly to reveal Tony Stark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter Parker. Hop in.” Stark pushed the door open and shuffled over in his seat, giving Peter B room to get in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please tell me this is gonna be quick. I’ve really got important places to be right now.” Peter B bit back a long, heavy sigh at the thought of spending more than a few hours with Stark. Even after over a year of silence between them, he could feel the annoyance seeping into his bones and making them ache in a way he’d been blessed enough to forget. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought you weren’t Spider-Man-ing anymore.” Stark mused as the limo started driving again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a life outside of Spider-Man, you know.” Peter B told him flatly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Someone please come and save me from this asshole. I’ll take a stabbing, a bomb threat, anything! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stark nodded absently. “Sure, kid. I need your help with something, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” Peter B raised an eyebrow at Stark as he stuffed the breakfast roll he’d bought into his mouth. Eating was probably the only thing that could stop him from opening his mouth and saying something stupidly insulting to Stark, who was already starting to piss him off royally. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They should give Tony Stark a world record for the quickest time in getting someone feeling shitty. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need you to look at some blueprints for me,” Stark said. “Related to biochemical engineering, which I know you have a degree in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B shook his head, gulping down his mouthful of unchewed breakfast food and jabbing a finger in Stark’s direction. “If this is another rouse to get me to be part of Stark Industries, I’m not-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not, Pete. My offer </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>still stand, however, no matter how many times you wanna decline it,” Stark said. “I’m not letting that smart brain of yours go to waste.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Until Stark Industries takes things other than money into consideration, I won’t be taking a position working there into consideration,” Peter B said, shovelling another mouthful of roll into his gob before he felt like yelling at Stark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And until you can propose a feasible way to fund things outside of what’s going to make the business money, your proposals </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>be considered,” Stark said, his voice oozing smug confidence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B shook his head and frowned, but didn’t say anything. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not worth it. Stand down. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, I need you to look over some plans I have designed for J.A.R.V.I.S.” Stark said. “I want to give him a more natural body, like an android rather than a robot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got most things finished, but my top scientists are working on other projects and won’t be able to help me add the finishing touches. I thought that you could lend me a hand,” Stark gave him a winning smile, like he was offering Peter B a million dollar jackpot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably not,” Peter B said, “but I’ll look anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stark’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, before fixing itself. “Always the humble genius, aren’t you, kid?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Peter B shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your life been like lately, anyway?” Stark asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got sucked into a black hole in my ceiling the other week. Traveled to an alternate universe, saved the world with some kid who was the new Spider-Man,” Peter B said, “the usual.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An alternate universe?” Stark asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I was blonde. And dead,” Peter B said nonchalantly, refraining from laughing when Stark gave him a mildly concerned frown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has anything else been happening?” Stark asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B took a thoughtful bite of his breakfast. “Not that I can think of.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Saw you were hanging out with Wade the other week,” Stark said after an awkward silence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Way to pick up the mood. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you monitoring me?” Peter B asked, unable to keep the sharp edge from his tone. If Stark was surveilling his street movements, nothing good could be coming out of this little meet-up of theirs. It always seemed like Stark had an issue with what Peter B did in his spare time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I was keeping an eye out, not monitoring,” Stark said and rolled his eyes, “I know you wanna be independent and whatever, but you’re an Avenger. We care about you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t start with this shit. I’m not interested, Stark. Whatever your problem is with Wade, you can sort it out with him. Otherwise, I don’t care,” Peter B said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stark scoffed. “He’s a gun-for-hire - are you serious? Of course we have a problem with that! He gets paid to murder people, Pete.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see the problem,” Peter B lied. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So what if I piss him off? Prick deserves it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re being an asshole,” Stark snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great. I’ll see myself out, then.” Peter B shuffled over in his seat, trying to get closer to the door of the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, everyone’s been worrying about you,” Stark said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Last minute effort. Don’t give into it, gotta stay strong. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B sighed. “They know where to find me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not now that you’ve stopped patrolling,” Stark said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You all know where I live. I know you do. S.H.I.E.L.D have all that info stored away in their little files, you don’t have to try and bullshit me. Hell, I’ve hacked their database and read some of the entries myself! If the rest of your team gave a shit about me, they would’ve come by to see me earlier, dropped by my apartment with a coffee or something,” Peter B said, “but they didn’t. So I’m really sorry that I can’t help you with your pet project, but I’ve got a ‘gun-for-hire’ that I need to speak to. Because he actually came to see me, check how I was doing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After a year of inactivity.” Stark frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because he thought I needed space. I don’t expect you to get that. Can you just let me out now, please? I don’t think either of us want me back at your lab.” Peter B reached for the door handle of the car, his hand hovering over it. Stark stared him down without betraying a single emotion, steady and practiced in what Peter B called his ‘media glare’. “Come on, man, we’re done here. Seriously. I just wanna get out and go home. I’m not ready for Avenger’s stuff. I don’t wanna go out and save the world anymore, it’s- it’s hard enough being Spider-Man, nowadays.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stark held his gaze for a few more seconds, before lifting up his wrist and clicking some buttons on his watch. “Hey Happy, can you pull over?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Peter B said dryly, opening the car door and stepping out, closing it behind him without a second glance. The limo peeled away from the curb and back into the city traffic, leaving Peter B to try and figure out where the hell he’d gotten to and how he could get back home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end of the laneway, Peter B looked up at the street sign and sighed. He was too far away from his apartment to walk there in reasonable time. Luckily (or ‘conveniently for the plot’, as Wade would say), the bus stop was only a block away, so it wouldn’t take him long to get to it and catch a bus back home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bus interior was grimy, though not particularly crowded. Peak traffic had already passed several hours ago, early morning commuters long gone by the time the general public started moving around the city. Peter B took a seat near the back of the bus, sitting beside a window and stretching his legs out to the side of him, humming in appreciation as his muscles creaked and popped. There wasn’t much to see through the dirty, handprinted window, so Peter B opted to close his eyes and relax to the rocking of the bus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, the silence around him allowed for Peter B to think over recent events that had occurred in his life. With a sarcastic smile, he patted himself on the back for the way he was handling his depressive episode, secretly proud of himself for going out with Miles and letting himself feel like a normal human being for a few hours. He’d done well in that conversation with Tony too, managing to keep his shit together and not snap or have a mental breakdown. That kind of effort deserved a whole round of applause, but Peter B wasn’t quite ready to make himself appear as a complete fool in public by clapping and cheering for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tomorrow would be a good time to go and see MJ,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought. If she was still on her old work schedule, she would be free the whole day, which would mean they’d have time to really talk things over and sort everything out. Even if they couldn’t sort things out, it would still be nice to see her face, to at least know that there was a chance they could salvage their friendship, the one thing that Peter B had really missed after they got divorced. He’d missed it when they were married, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bus stopped right near Peter B’s apartment, so he got out and walked down the street, dreading the idea of finding Wade in his home and speaking to him. Feelings were hard enough to deal with when </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>people were expressing them, let alone Peter B dealing with his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudging up the stairs to his apartment, Peter B breathed slowly, trying to clear his head and prepare himself for when he would step inside to find Wade. Such anxieties at seeing his best friend had never come to him before, but there was a first time for everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands shaking, he turned the key in the lock of his apartment, pushing the door open slowly and entering. Within mere seconds, Wade’s head was popping out from the bedroom doorway, staring at Peter B, wide-eyed and smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re okay,” Wade said, rushing over to Peter B before stopping himself short with a jolt. His hands hovered in the air, unsure and unmoving, like he wanted to touch Peter B but couldn’t quite bring himself to follow through with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got stuck in another dimension. There was a lady Deadpool and she had some light-up Sketchies for boots.” Peter B laughed at himself, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve always wanted a pair of light-ups,” Wade admitted, lifting his hands finally to scratch the back of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B cracked a knuckle as he thought over what he wanted to tell Wade. “I’m sorry I didn’t see your texts til this morning. I got a bit distracted last night.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sure, just put the confession off with an apology. Why not? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s fine. You don’t usually answer, it was sort of a last second thing - just in case, ya know?” Wade nodded to himself. “Yes, it’s fine. Shut up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your thought boxes not too happy with my reasoning?” Peter B asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They don’t really understand how we work together,” Wade said. He looked tired, his blue eyes drooping at the corners and eyelids hanging low. Guilt flushed over Peter B as he realised Wade had probably been waiting up for him all night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like we make it easy for them.” Peter B joked, stepping around Wade and heading for the couch, flopping onto it. He remembered the bag of breakfast roll clenched in his fist, holding it up for Wade to see and grinning. “I brought you breakfast from that food truck we were planning on going to together.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade’s eyes lit up as he sat down heavily beside Peter B and grabbed the bag, opening it and scrabbling around inside as he snatched up the breakfast roll and shoved it into his mouth without ceremony. “Thanks, Petey-pie. You’re the best boyfriend ever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wade,” Peter B said, taking a deep, but hasty breath. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s now or never. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Can we talk?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Wade said, looking at Peter B expectantly over his roll. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why is he so goddamn agreeable and easy all the time? He’s not even gonna tease me? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter B explained to Wade what happened the day before with the interdimensional bracelets and how he ended up in another universe, chatting with another Deadpool. Wade nodded along good-naturedly, making dry comments about the fame of Wayde and how he could certainly relate to her crippling Twitter feed, even if his ‘street-cred’ wasn’t quite as high. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My point is,” Peter B said after one of Wade’s long monologues about the pains of having pictures of your ass constantly retweeted at you, “she said that her and her Peter were together. Like, in a relationship.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay?” Wade said, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t get it. Are you implying something here, baby boy? Unless I’ve got amnesia, I don’t think I’ve been lucky enough to get in with you yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but that’s-” Peter B’s head snapped around to gaze at the window, his spine and neck tingling. He couldn’t see anything, but something didn’t sit right with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A spike of pain shot through him and he dove forward on instinct, lying flat on the floor with his body pressed to the couch in a matter of moments. Just as he thought to grab Wade and drag him down too, the window of the apartment exploded. A split second later, a knife embedded itself in the wall with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk, </span>
  </em>
  <span>while another knife landed somewhere with a wet squelch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade slumped forward, falling limply from the couch and crashing to the floor in front of Peter B. A knife was buried in the back of his neck, jutting out at a sickening angle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A loud crashing and cracking came from nearby. The sharp tingling and painful spiking in Peter B’s neck told him that someone had just broken down his door. Shouts spilt into the apartment, the metal sheen of knives being slid from sheathes ringing out. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh boy. As if my love confession couldn’t get any more difficult. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm so sorry, I couldn't help myself. </p><p> </p><p>It's been a minute since I last wrote, but it's because I've gotten obsessed with (finally) finishing Hannibal these last few days, and then I got even more distracted because I wrote a work for it and my life is a mess. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Rotten Apples and Diapers Are Not Good Smells for a Thought-Invoking Aroma</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Things just happen, sometimes. We learn to go along. </p><p>(Don't even ask about the chapter title; I'm just as lost as you.)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Wade?” A woman’s voice sounded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade opened his eyes. An office space sat before him, plush grey carpet beneath his feet and a chair a few metres in front of him, set before a large, mahogany desk. Behind the desk sat a woman with pale grey skin, off-white hair and black eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You died?” The woman asked, reaching into one of her desk drawers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade shook his head, clearing the fogginess from his brain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m in Death’s offices, speaking to Death #2.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Yeah, I think someone shot me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me scan you quickly.” Death #2 pulled out a gun and pointed it at Wade, pulling the trigger. Her gun beeped and whirred, the computer on her desk responding in kind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my fifth time dying?” Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fourth, actually.” Death #2 said, clacking away at the keyboard of her computer. “Sit down, darling, you’ll go back in a minute.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade did as she said, sitting in the chair opposite her and twiddling his thumbs. Death #2 continued typing, fingers flying around at an erratic pace. After a few moments, her phone began to ring, so she picked it up from her desk and answered, discussing some technical things with someone Wade couldn’t hear at the other end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My apologies we didn’t get to chat, dear,” Death #2 said after she’d hung up the phone, smiling at Wade, “but you’re due to go back up now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Death.” Wade offered his hand for her to shake and she took it with a firm grip. They shook and Wade walked over to the door into the office, opening it and stepping out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second, everything went grey. Colour poured in from the edges of his vision and Wade blinked, body moving of its own accord as he sat up and looked around. Sound hit him in a wave, disorientating as shouting rang around in his skull and a hissing noise came from behind him, followed by a quick succession of </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk-thunk-thunk. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingers snapped under his nose and he swung his head to look at where the hand came from, finding a very beautiful man staring at him, his gorgeousness only slightly marred with his frown and furrowed eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wade,” the man said, “you okay, bud? We kinda need to get moving. Now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A loud hiss came, air brushing Wade’s skin as the sound passed by. The man leapt to the side and Wade registered the glint of a knife, the blade burying itself into the floor and splintering it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Realisation slammed through him like a freight train. “Died for a minute there. Let’s go, baby boy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade stood, ushering the beautiful man (who he knew now was, in fact, Petey) into the bedroom, doing his best to shield him from any potential knives flying their way. Apparently there were a few, Wade’s back becoming littered with knives and various empty wounds where blades had come loose. Blood dripped down from his back and onto the floor as he slammed the bedroom door shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not the way I imagined hustling you into a bedroom,” Wade said, winking at Petey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Petey surged forward, reaching around to touch the back of Wade’s neck, eyes widening in horror at the feeling of several knives protruding from the skin. “Turn around.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me to bend over, or will that come later?” Wade asked, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of knives thumping against the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Petey’s exasperated look, Wade turned. Bracing his hands against the door, he made it look as though he was trying to keep the thing shut, but in reality, he was doing it so that he could refrain from swearing and carrying on as Petey yanked the knives out of his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last knife clattered to the floor and Petey gave Wade a pat on the shoulder, probably carefully avoiding hitting a wound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The bathroom window should open enough for us to get out,” Petey said in his ear, quiet enough that the people outside wouldn’t hear him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade nodded. “Grab your Spidey gear and I’ll cover you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said ‘us’, Wade, not ‘me’.” Petey tugged at Wade’s arm. “C’mon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grab your Spidey gear first,” Wade said. “And my nice dress, please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The navy one?” Petey ran over to Wade’s cupboard, throwing it open and reaching inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade gave him a thumbs up, focusing on the bedroom door. How these people had so many goddamn knives, he had absolutely no idea. If the boxes came back to him a bit sooner after death (which they thankfully didn’t) they would have been busy chattering about ‘bad writing’ and something along the lines of the whole attack being ‘very convenient for the slow-burn plot’. Wade was inclined to agree, but he didn’t want the writer to know he thought badly of them, given how much they’d already tortured him over the years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bathroom.” Petey grabbed Wade’s arm and dragged him to the bathroom, shouldering a backpack on the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade shut the bathroom door behind them as Petey began screwing around with the window above the sink, swearing and fiddling with the latch. At the sound of the bedroom door being kicked in, Petey gave up on opening the window and instead punched a hole through it, snarling and gritting his teeth when pieces of glass buried themselves in his fist. Despite the injury, he continued his assault on the window, knocking all the glass clean in record time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grunting, Petey heaved himself up from the sink and through the window, scrabbling around outside and unintentionally kicking his legs out at Wade, probably trying to keep his balance. Wade tried to follow suit, climbing onto the sink and scrambling for the window, only too find-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're too big," Petey frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, that’s what that guy I slept with last week said!” Wade grinned at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey gave him an unimpressed eyebrow raise and sighed. “I think you’re gonna have to dislocate one of your shoulders, bud.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funny you should say that: that guy last week said the </span>
  <em>
    <span>exact </span>
  </em>
  <span>same thing,” Wade said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even want to imagine the kind of situation that could prompt a request like that.” Petey’s nose wrinkled in disgust and he shook his head. “My brain’s doing it anyway and it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>looking good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could think of at least seventy-five scenarios in which I would need to dislocate a shoulder for sex,” Wade furrowed his eyebrows and mimed hard thinking, “no, scrap that, seventy-six.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… are you gonna do it, or…?” Petey turned his head and gave the surrounding rooftops a quick scan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade sighed. “Gimme a sec.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without further ado, he grabbed his bicep and wrenched it. A wet squelch and tear could be heard above the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the knives in the door and Wade bit back a scream as his shoulder popped out of place, muscles tearing along the way. Petey grimaced at the sight, but grabbed Wade's good hand and helped pull him through the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is kinda inconvenient," Petey said, gazing down to the pavement that lay far below. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can you sprint down? Before they see us?" Wade asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can try." Petey hefted Wade into his arms, making it so Wade was upright over his shoulder while he ran horizontally down the side of the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the way, Petey's backpack managed to slam into his face at least seven times, almost breaking his nose and scratching his eyes out. Wade bit back any complaints that came to mind when he saw one of the knife-wielding people begin climbing through the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Throw me onto the ground and jump on top." Wade hissed to Petey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey did it without question, knocking the wind from Wade's stomach when he landed. The knife-wielder was hanging out of the window by their torso, staring down at Wade and Petey. Hopefully from that angle, it looked like Wade had died, with Petey using his body as a cushion to jump onto - if they knew that Petey could walk down walls, his identity would be fairly easy to work out from there. Whom Spider-Man was under the mask was the last thing New York needed to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna have to get up, bud. It’s gonna look suspicious as hell if I carry you.” Petey offered Wade his hand, pulling him up. Wade took the opportunity of standing so close to look over Petey’s face and check for any injuries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your cheek hurt?” Wade brushed his thumb over a cut along Petey’s cheekbone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Petey reached up and touched his cheek, eyebrows furrowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers were poking just beneath the cut, so Wade moved his hand and corrected it, placing Petey’s fingers directly over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Petey pressed down and winced. “Not too bad. How’s your shoulder?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Wade could answer, Petey had grabbed his arm and was looking over it, one hand wrapped around his wrist and the other running up along the muscles, over his forearm to his elbow and all the way to his shoulder. Head tilted down slightly, he pressed his fingers into the joints of the shoulder, digging in to make sure everything was back in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were pressed together, Petey’s shoulder touching Wade’s chest and their knees bumping. Petey looked up at Wade and it was as if something sparked in his eyes. Within seconds, he’d let go of Wade’s wrist and shoulder, cupping Wade’s face in one hand and caressing his neck with the other, surging forward and pressing their lips together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The force of it, the intent and desperation knocked Wade back into the wall behind him, his back pinned to the brick while Petey pushed into his front. It was consuming, kissing Petey, and all Wade could do was kiss him back and hope to match his desperation, feeling as if they were trying to find something within each other to latch onto and hold. Everything about it was... perfect. Surprisingly so, perhaps. Almost too good to be true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade could taste traces of breakfast in Petey’s mouth, something like bread and egg. In that moment, he realised that if he could kiss Petey every morning and taste breakfast on his tongue and lips, maybe life wouldn’t be so bad anymore. Maybe it could even be good, for once. If he could have Petey pressed that tightly to his body at some point each day, that’d keep him going forever. He’d never get tired of Petey’s hands on his face and neck, thumbs rubbing over the skin like it was nothing, like it didn’t make him strange or a freak, but that it was something to enjoy - he would never be able to get enough of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey pulled away, eyes wide and his red, swollen lips parted in horror. “Did I just- oh, fuck.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade’s heart sank into his feet. His stomach dropped beneath him and his brain started buzzing, face burning hot and red with… shame. He hadn’t felt shame in </span>
  <em>
    <span>years. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, no, it’s not you, I-” Petey shook his head, waving his hands frantically, “I didn’t mean to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>kiss </span>
  </em>
  <span>you, I was gonna tell you I was in love with you first and see where things went from there, but then you were standing in front of me and we were really close so I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>it and- oh, fuck, I can’t fucking believe I would do that to you, I’m so sorry, Jesus Christ, you probably hate me right now and fair enough because I’m a goddamn moron-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Petey.” Wade grabbed his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Petey’s head was dropped, but he looked up at Wade through his lashes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can talk about this later. We’ve gotta go,” Wade said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey startled and nodded, letting Wade pull him out of the alleyway and into the street. As they took off running down the street, Wade heard screaming behind them, but stopped Petey from turning back to check what was happening. It wasn’t a densely populated area for tourists and the general public, but the sooner they got out of the city, the safer civilians were. Stopping to check on them would be encouragement for further attacks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade took them ducking through as many side streets and alleys as possible, using buildings and signs as shelter in case any more projectiles were thrown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve gotta safe house in Bronx,” Wade said as him and Petey ran, “I can call Dopinder, get him to drive us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t he just a civ?” Petey asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, he’s killed a couple people!” Wade punched Petey’s arm, almost running into a group of teenagers due to the lack of concentration. “Sorry!” Wade yelled as he dodged around them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey grabbed Wade’s arm and slung him into an alley, pulling him down behind a dumpster to hide. “How quickly can he get here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lemme call him.” Wade pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled Dopinder’s number, tapping his feet as he waited. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr Pool?” Dopinder’s voice came through the speaker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade couldn’t help but grin at the sound of his voice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So sweet. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Hey, buddy, I need you to come pick me up, please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Mr Pool. Where are you?” Banging and clattering came from the background. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always forget the name of this street, but it’s like… in between </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wendy’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> and that fancy ice cream place where they mix gummy worms with the ice cream and have flavours like ‘your grandma’s butthole’ and ‘gunpowder’. You know the one.” Wade ignored the concerned look Petey was giving him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do know the one, Mr Pool. I will be there in ten minutes.” Dopinder hung up the phone as a particularly loud crash rang through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ten minutes,” Wade told Petey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey nodded. In the silence that followed, Wade thought over what had happened earlier when Petey kissed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Wade and Vanessa had gotten together, it all made sense. Everything about them clicked; no complicated confessions, no years spent pining, no simmering homoerotic tension. With Petey, everything was clicking, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> like it wasn’t. Wade figured that if Petey turned to him now and said the whole thing was a prank, an experiment to see whether they could still be friends after something as intimate as running away from certain death together and making out along the way, he’d probably accept that. He’d think it was fair enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea of someone loving him was utterly </span>
  <em>
    <span>absurd. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There was something so reassuring about being in love with someone who didn’t feel the same way, because there wasn’t a chance of them falling out of love with you, no chance of crushing weight being thrown onto your shoulders the moment you realised they didn’t want you anymore, given that they’d never wanted you in the first place. That was why he let himself fall in love with Petey and stay like that, happy to keep the tension in his mind and imagine where things could go, but ultimately always shy away from action. There was no way Petey really loved him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is there? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the distinct smell of rotten apples that brought Wade back into the present. The smell was leaking from the bin in sickly sweet waves, making him feel dizzy and nauseous, with the overwhelming urge to stop breathing, afraid that no matter what, the smell would forever be lurking in his nostrils and mouth. When the smell of diapers started to rise as well, Wade shook his head and stood up, walking into open sight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you sit back down?” Petey hissed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has your super hearing made it so your sense of smell is non-existent?” Wade fired back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m just putting up with it,” Petey reached forward and grabbed the hem of Wade’s shirt, tugging it, “sit down!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade raised an eyebrow. “You want me to throw up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s even worse than standing in the open,” Petey sighed, rubbing his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My point exactly. Have fun with your trash, hun.” Wade walked to the other side of the alley and sat there, facing Petey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me ‘hun’.” Petey frowned at Wade behind his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, hun,” Wade said with a smile, tapping his foot and humming. It was obnoxious and manipulative, but he wanted to see what Petey really meant when he said he was in love with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey ignored him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fair. I’m being an asshole. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of screams and screeching tires indicated to Wade that Dopinder had pulled up outside the alley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t hit anything with your car!” Wade yelled and clapped Dopinder on the back as he slid into the cab. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Congratulations,” Petey said as he got in beside Wade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you Mr Pool, thank you Mr Parker.” Dopinder nodded to each of them. “Where am I taking you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember my name?” Petey asked, eyebrows furrowed and a puzzled smile on his face. “Huh.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dopinder grinned at him in the rearview mirror. “Oh yes, Mr Parker. Mr Pool talks about you all the time!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade tried to avoid the sight of Petey’s shit-eating grin, but found his resolve crumbling. Petey wiggled his eyebrows and smirked when Wade finally looked at him, before pulling his phone out and scrolling through it with an innocent smile on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade told Dopinder the address of his favourite Bronx safehouse - it was only one that had any living supplies in it, truth be known. All the others were full of weaponry and random shit he’d collected over the years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive was quiet, both Petey and Wade playing on their phones while Dopinder jammed out to some of his Hindu music, sometimes swerving on the road and missing a pedestrian by a hair. It was admirable, really, the way Dopinder could land himself in so much trouble and somehow manage to avoid it with only a close scrape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Wade,” Petey leaned over to Wade, holding his phone out, “how do I change my name on here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade grabbed his phone. It was open on a group chat of some sort, with a layout that was basically the same as any generic social media platform. Clicking through a few menus, Wade got to the settings and opened the panels to change the name, already finding the user as ‘Burrito Peter’. What that meant, he had no idea, but he deleted it and changed it to ‘Peter Bubblebutt Parker’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey scoffed when Wade handed his phone back, shaking his head. “You see my birth certificate or something?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God, is that what you were named? They must have known through genetics that you’d end up with such a nice tush,” Wade said. “Lemme guess… your dad had a shockingly good ass that he hid with baggy pants!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I legally changed it a few years back. Got drunk, did a dare.” Petey nodded. “Fun times.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Flash dare you?” Wade asked, playing along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. It was Ned, actually,” Petey smirked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade pretended to consider it. “He was always a man of wisdom, that one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know it. Especially that time he got drunk and flew around on a ceiling fan - one of his finest moments, I must say - really showcased how far humans have come as a species.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can respect that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d be a dumbass not to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do be spittin’ facts, doe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>That’s my line!</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fight! Fight! Fight! Imagine I’m turning the lights on and off, like that Simpsons episode! </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you guys are back in orbit,” Wade said, grimacing, “how delightful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They go AWOL when you die, don’t they?” Petey asked. Wade nodded in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Hotstuff cares about us? What a sweetheart.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Wait, so has he forgiven us? Catch us up, Dickstick! Why the fuck are we listening to Asswipe’s shitty ass music? </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be racist to Dopinder!” Wade yelled. Dopinder smiled hesitantly at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>It’s not fucking racist, it’s just shitty music! </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>You’re both getting off-topic. Spill the fucking tea, Wade!</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll catch you up later,” Wade said, “but for now, I’ll just tell you that we’re on our way to the Bronx safehouse.” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Oh, for fuck’s sake. </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Which house? Not the one with the weird sex dolls. Hotstuff won’t like that one.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The normal one. With food and shit,” Wade answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey had an eyebrow raised in Wade’s direction at the sound of that. He must have put two-and-two together. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why are guys five hundred times smarter than me so fucking attractive? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>God, I missed his face. He’s so fucking </span>
    <em>
      <span>hot, </span>
    </em>
    <span>I wanna suck his dick so fucking </span>
    <em>
      <span>bad.</span>
    </em>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>It </b>
  <b>
    <em>is</em>
  </b>
  <b> good to see his face. </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That was… surprisingly tender. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dopinder managed to not crash into anything when they finally pulled up to the Bronx house, earning himself a high ten instead of a high five. Petey was also kind enough to high ten Dopinder, something that caused Wade’s brain to go pleasantly light and dizzy, warm fuzziness buzzing through his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house was much dustier than when Wade had seen it last, though he supposed that was to be expected. It had been several months since he’d needed to visit Bronx in general, and given the lack of gang wars in New York, he hadn’t needed to house anyone or himself. Minimal furniture was spread among the rooms of the house, no real decor on the walls, but Wade liked the emptiness of the place, finding that when he was going through a rough patch, it helped to come and see a blank space where his thoughts weren’t distracted by anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The floor plan was only one storey, with all the bare essential rooms: two bedrooms sharing a bathroom, a kitchen, a living room and a dining area. Wade had never bothered with the dining area, as it wasn’t a safe house designed to be lived in by too many people, so he kept a small table in the corner with some chairs and used most of the space as a study. A cork board lined the wall behind a large desk, spare pins and string hanging off it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This your theory lab?” Petey asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, this is the house for thinking stuff over. Might need to string up intel I get from Wease on those knife-wielding dickweeds,” Wade sighed, rearranging all the pins so that they were in a new, completely randomised order. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey frowned. “You know those guys?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorta,” Wade said, “Gwennie and I got attacked by them while we were patrolling. Musta tracked me down somehow and found me at your place. Sorry about that, by the way. I’ll pay for the damage.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to do that,” Petey said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to.” It wasn’t any trouble. He had plenty of money and didn’t have anything to blow it on (other than illegal weaponry from overseas) so over the years, he had developed a tendency to buy things for Petey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petey drifted out of the dining area and into the living room, kicking his shoes off and flopping down onto one of the couches. Puffs of dust rose up around him and he coughed, flinging his arm over his face and wheezing. Wade sat beside him and patted his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s now or never. Time to get rejected! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Wade said when Petey came out of his coughing fit, “you wanna talk about what happened earlier?” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>IT'S HAPPENING KJDKSKSJDKSJD</p><p>On a very important side note: I fucking love Dopinder and his Hindu music. Fucking king, that man.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Getting (It) Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The start of something beautiful.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m so sorry,” Peter B said, sitting up and swinging himself around to face Wade. </p><p>Wade stayed silent. </p><p>"It's gonna sound dumb, but when I went to this other dimension, the version of you told me how other versions of you have a thing for versions of me," Peter B sighed and gripped the back of his neck, pinching the skin between his fingers tightly and rubbing it, "and I realised that it applied to you. And that… I felt the same way." </p><p>Wade nodded, face not betraying any type of emotion. <em> Fuck me. This is a mistake.  </em></p><p>"And I was gonna come back and tell you and say that we should take it slow, but then I kissed you instead and I don't know what to do now and I'm really, really fucking sorry." Peter B looked away from Wade and stared at the ground, biting the inside of his cheek and fighting off the tightness in his chest. "It's fine if you don't feel the same way. I get it." </p><p>"You wanna take this slow?" Wade asked. </p><p>"What?" Peter B stared at him. <em> He wants this?  </em></p><p>Wade grabbed his hands, holding them in the middle, halfway between their knees. "I'm gonna be completely honest, here, Peter. I've been wanting you for… fuck, maybe twenty years? And I don't want that to pressure you into anything, I don't want you to make you think this means we need to go fast, but I needed to tell you that. I've spent twenty years wanting you, Peter, I don't think you could do anything to make me not want you now." </p><p>“You’ve liked me for twenty years?” <em> Fucking </em> hell, <em> that’s a long time. Two whole decades?  </em></p><p>“Two whole decades,” Wade said, like an echo. </p><p>“Why?” </p><p>“There’s lots of reasons.” </p><p>“There can’t be.” </p><p>“Have you seen your body? That’s like… a million reasons by itself. Then there’s the way you talk and the fact that you laugh at my jokes, and then there’s just everything about you and that’s like another fifty billion reasons, which we kinda don’t have time to get into right now because we’re kinda on the run from some crazy motherfuckers with knives, but we’ll get to it eventually, and yeah. I just love you. As a friend, not like, a lover, but that’ll probably happen in the next thirty minutes, because my dumbass brain has no idea what ‘taking it slow means’. So yeah. I really like you.” </p><p>Peter B was vaguely aware of the fact that he wasn’t responding to that and had taken to staring at Wade instead. Fingers - Wade’s, his mind supplied - rested on his cheek. It wasn’t anything new, Wade had touched him like this a countless number of times, but this time it all felt so real, not friendly but <em> loving </em> and soft and it made his heart melt a little at the edges in a way that probably shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. </p><p>Where a million times before, this kind of situation would garner a smile, Peter B knew this time would be different. Blinking slowly and lazily, he leaned into Wade’s hand and met his big blue eyes, unable to keep his lips from twitching upward when Wade’s gaze widened. </p><p>“Can I kiss you?” Wade asked. </p><p>“Yeah.” Peter B let Wade’s hand guide him in as he closed his eyes, meeting Wade’s lips for the second time that morning. </p><p>The first time they’d kissed, it was as though they were trying to get a taste of each other, desperate and messy and much too fast. Kissing the second time was like they were trying to savour each other, connecting more and understanding, exploring an entirely new avenue of life they’d never experienced before rather than tearing through. </p><p>When Wade cupped Peter B’s other cheek in his hand, holding his face and stroking it with his thumbs, Peter B let his own body respond in kind, reaching out and pressing a hand to Wade’s chest and hip. Part of him wanted to slip his hand under Wade’s shirt and touch his skin, but Peter B fought the urge, not wanting the kiss to turn into something he wasn’t sure he was entirely ready for. He settled for rubbing Wade through the material of the shirt, grabbing at the muscle underneath and rolling it under his fingers. </p><p>Everything in his mind felt consumed by Wade. Electricity pulsed through him in some foreign pattern, as if him and Wade were sharing the same energy, giving and taking to and from each other. The faint smell of blood and sweat rose from Wade’s skin, but there was also the familiar, comforting smell of <em> Wade </em> in general, a warm husk that Peter B had been accustomed to over the years and hadn’t realised how much he’d come to love it. Wade’s lips tasted the way he smelt, completely <em> Wade- </em>like and impossible to describe. Blood pulsed in his ears, a dull thumping in time with his heart, which had taken things up a notch and sped up by a few beats, skipping whenever Wade’s lips slipped away and came back, sliding against Peter B’s with an interest as earnest as when they’d first started. </p><p>Losing himself in the kiss, Peter B leant further in, his legs unfolding from beneath him and moving to climb over Wade’s thighs and wrap around his waist. Before Peter B could hoist himself up and into Wade’s lap, Wade pushed his face away slightly and held him there. </p><p>“Baby boy,” Wade’s voice cracked from its roughness and he chuckled, ducking his head and lifting it back up to meet Peter B’s eyes with a sheepish look, “if you climb into my lap, I think I might have to go and have some very special alone time.” </p><p>Peter B was sure his cheeks were already flushed, but that comment made his cheeks absolutely <em> burn. </em>“Sorry.” </p><p>“You don’t have to be sorry, babe, it’s just that you said you wanna take it slow, so I’m trying to do right by you. If you wanna do this, we can, but I’m not doing anything unless you say yes.” Wade tilted his head up and placed a light kiss on the tip of Peter B’s nose, smiling when he pulled away again. </p><p>“I don’t even know what slow is for us,” Peter B admitted. “We’ve already done all the shit couples do - besides, <em> that, </em>obviously - but like… I don’t even know what I meant by ‘slow’.” </p><p>Wade shrugged. “You don’t have to. Just tell me what you wanna do and I’ll do it. No questions asked.” </p><p>“That’s not fair on you,” Peter B said. </p><p>“What’s fair,” Wade said, giving Peter B’s face an emphatic squeeze, “is that both of us are comfortable. I’m comfortable with anything, you know that. Hell, I’ve been comfortable the past twenty years thinking I’ll never be with you!” </p><p>Peter B frowned. </p><p>“Come on, don’t be like that. If I ever see a frown on your face again, I’m kissing it away. Okay?” Wade smirked and pressed a chaste kiss to Peter B’s lips. </p><p>Peter B tried to keep frowning, but then Wade was leaning in for another kiss and he couldn’t keep it up any longer, letting a laugh pass his lips as he pressed them to Wade’s. As Wade sank back into the couch cushions, Peter B went with him, wrapping his arms around Wade’s waist and falling onto his chest, pressing a peck in between his collarbones and burying his nose into Wade’s neck before he embarrassed himself further by kissing more of Wade’s body. Wade’s heavy, muscled arms came to rest over Peter B’s shoulders and down his back, hands resting right in the middle. </p><p>When Peter B thought he couldn’t have been more comfortable, Wade’s stomach decided to grumble. </p><p>“I’m kinda hungry,” Wade said to the empty air above them. </p><p>“I’m kinda comfy,” Peter B muttered into Wade’s neck, pressing his nose in. </p><p>“When I said ‘tell me to do stuff’, I didn’t mean stuff that’d detriment my health,” Wade said, falling silent when his stomach rumbled again. </p><p>“You’re not gonna die because you’re a little hungry,” Peter B grouched. </p><p>Wade chuckled. “I might die if you keep reminding me of how goddamn cute you are when you’re tired. Hey, I can actually say stuff like that now, without it sounding weirdly gay!” </p><p>“It still sounds weirdly gay,” Peter B said, “but so does everything we say to each other.” </p><p>Wade laughed, sending pleasant tremors through Peter B’s upper body, but cut himself off. “Guys, I know this is really exciting, but I’m tryna have a quiet moment with Petey right now,” he said. </p><p>“Thought boxes?” Peter B asked. </p><p>“Yeah, they’re going fucking mental,” Wade sighed. His arms felt looser and heavier against Peter B’s back, like they were tired from carrying some huge emotional burdens. </p><p>Peter B often wondered what it would be like to have thoughts in your head that are independent of your own. From what he could gather, it seemed horrible. There’d probably never be any peace up there, never a time where you can truly relax and unwind without something plaguing you. Dreams and nightmares would be affected, possibly causing hallucinations in periods of consciousness. The implications of them were as fascinating as they were horrifying, something Peter B would love to study but knew that Wade wouldn’t be keen on, given his horrible past involving scientists, experimentation and mutation. To ask to study him would be overstepping boundaries and destroying Wade’s trust in him. </p><p>“How’s about I stay here and turn the volume right up on the TV,” Peter B said, pushing himself up and off Wade, settling into the couch, “while you go to the kitchen, make yourself some breakfast and have a nice, private chat with your boxes. I won’t hear a thing.” </p><p>“I don’t wanna seem like I’m hiding anything from you,” Wade murmured, sitting up too. </p><p>Peter B grabbed Wade’s hands. “I promise I don’t mind. I’d never ask you to tell me everything that goes on in your head, okay? There’s a reason only some of us are mind-readers, you know.” </p><p>“Are you sure?” Wade asked, frowning. His shoulders were set stiff with worry, his grip on Peter B’s hands frigid. </p><p>“Of course.” Peter B squeezed his hands. “Now, if you don’t stop frowning, I’m gonna kiss it away.” </p><p>“I’ll keep frowning forever, then,” Wade said, his twitching lips betraying his declaration. </p><p>Peter B kissed him again, gentle and sweet. Some of the tension in Wade’s body faded as they kissed, though he went back to being nervous when Peter B pulled away. </p><p>“Go on.” Peter B nudged Wade’s shoulder. </p><p>Sighing, Wade stood, his hands lingering in Peter B’s as he stepped away and headed for the kitchen, each pace looking more arduous than the last. </p><p>Peter B spent a few minutes fumbling around and hunting for the TV remote, finding it sandwiched between the couch cushions. After flicking the TV on, he switched it to a random channel playing a nineties sitcom and turned the volume up, sprawling on the couch and watching it sideways. </p><p>The show was positively mindless. Some storyline was running about a husband thinking his wife was cheating and ensuing a series of mishaps that (in any normal society) would be considered abusive and manipulative, but in the show were some kind of joke. Peter B found himself switching to a nature documentary channel, watching as a tiger killed a deer and ate it, the narrator telling the audience how the tiger would bury some of the deer for later. </p><p>The documentary got boring, so Peter B went on his phone, entering the group chat Peni had set up with the Spider-people. </p><p>A few new messages had popped up. </p><p><span class="u"> TechWiz: </span> are you guys ok with the layout of the chat? </p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> yea, all g</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> maybe more colour? idk feels kinda bland tbh</p><p><span class="u"> NaziPuncher69: </span> You can change how this doohickey looks? How? </p><p><span class="u"> TechWiz: </span> programming</p><p><span class="u"> LuneyToones: </span> i think it should be more cartoony! </p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> oh hell nah</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> peni pls dont do that</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> bruh if you add cartoons and stuff istg i might have a stroke</p><p><span class="u"> TechWiz: </span> i’m not adding cartoons, ham</p><p><span class="u"> LuneyToones: </span> what’s your problem with cartoons? I think they’re neat! </p><p><span class="u"> NaziPuncher69: </span> Programming on what? This thing? </p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> what is this mans on ab? y u asking ab programming my guy</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> bro dont bully him just bc he cant type all speedy like you</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> hes talking to peni ab programming the layout</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> he doesnt have phones in his universe remember???</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> smhhhh</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> aight aight sorry</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> damn</p><p><span class="u"> TechWiz: </span> noir, just answer your dms. i’ll talk to you there</p><p>
  <em> NaziPuncher69 has left the chat </em>
</p><p><span class="u">M&amp;M:</span> BAHAHAHAH LMAO</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> omgggg lmao poor man</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> peni just go to his dimension and teach him lmao this wont work</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> thats actually a good idea lol</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> write him a little manual book</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> w/o any coloured pics</p><p><span class="u"> PeterBParker: </span> Hey guys</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> aaaaayyyyyy look whos here</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> oh hey pete</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> man whys your name so boring</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> lmao you should’ve seen his last one</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> ???</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> it was like</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> peter bubblebutt parker or sum lol</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> LMAO WHAT</p><p><span class="u"> PeterBParker: </span> That was wade! I swear</p><p><span class="u"> PeterBParker: </span> It was wade I promise</p><p><span class="u"> PeterBParker: </span> Please believe me it was all him</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> yea right</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> i got my eyes on u, mr</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> thats sum wade would do tbh</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> its okay pete</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> did u get home ok last nite???</p><p><span class="u"> PeterBParker: </span> …</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> oh shid</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> dude where r u</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> oh frick</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> miles what did you do</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> bruh wth whats going on</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> pete are you ok???</p><p><span class="u"> PeterBParker: </span> I’m fine. Got alternate you to fix the bracelets</p><p><span class="u"> PeterBParker: </span> I’ll tell you later</p><p><span class="u"> PeterBParker: </span> I just wanted to check in with you guys</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> oh yeah im good</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> your wades nice</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> seems like a good dude</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> im sad i didnt get to meet him properly tbh :(</p><p><span class="u"> PeterBParker: </span> He is a good guy</p><p><span class="u"> PeterBParker: </span> Who named noir nazipuncher69</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> me lmao</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> he doesnt get it but like</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> its still funny</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> he likes the name </p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> he was so excited ab it so now we cant change it</p><p><span class="u"> PeterBParker: </span> ...of course</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> aw crap i gtg </p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> dads on me ab hw smh</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> ‘miles do ur essay’</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> like i got a life man</p><p><span class="u"> M&amp;M: </span> anyway bye </p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> i should go too</p><p><span class="u">AcyStacy:</span> i got stuff to do</p><p><span class="u"> AcyStacy: </span> good talking to you pete</p><p><span class="u"> PeterBParker: </span> You too gwen</p><p>Peter B shook his head and switched his phone off. Wade came into the room a moment later, a strained smile on his face. </p><p>“Sorry I took so long,” Wade said, sitting on the couch, next to Peter B’s head, “thought boxes were going a little crazy.” </p><p>“You okay?” Peter B asked. </p><p>“Yeah. You?” Wade grinned down at him. </p><p>“Yeah,” Peter B said. </p><p>Groaning, Peter B heaved himself up and onto Wade, resting his head on Wade’s thigh like a pillow. Wade’s hand came to sit on his chest, splayed over his sternum, rising and falling with each breath Peter B took, comforting and warm. <em> I could get used to this. Maybe the second time falling in love is just as magical as the first.  </em></p><p>“I know we were having a moment and whatever, but I kinda need to tell you about those knife guys,” Wade said, turning the volume of the TV down. </p><p>“It’s always the fucking knife guys,” Peter B rubbed his face, his sigh coming out as a whistle between his fingers, “tell me what happened.” </p><p>---</p><p>Peter B frowned. “But we don’t know what they want?” </p><p>“Not yet. Like I said, I’ve got Wease looking into it, but it’s gonna take a couple days before he’s got anything useful for us. We go to him now, he can give us addresses and families,” Wade reached down and ran his fingers through Peter B’s hair, “and I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like making housecalls.” </p><p>“We’d be giving ourselves to them if we did that,” Peter B muttered. </p><p>“Yeah. Plus, I don’t wanna be putting kids and shit in the line of fire.” Wade tugged at Peter B’s hair, teasing a knot from it. He apologised when Peter B winced, but kept at it, disentangling Peter B’s hair and fixing it up. </p><p>“Why do they always have to have families?” Peter B groaned, turning on his side and burying his face into Wade’s stomach. “Like, for real, if you’re a horrible person, don’t get fucking married. And don’t have kids. So fucking simple.” </p><p>Wade hummed in agreement, face dark and concerned. </p><p>“You okay?” Peter B asked. </p><p>“Thinking about the orphanage,” Wade said. </p><p>“Holy shit, yeah. How are those kids?” Peter B asked. </p><p>Wade smiled to himself. “They’re good. Really good. I gotta pick a kid up and take him there tomorrow, actually. You wanna come?” </p><p>“Sure,” Peter B said. “Where’d he come from?” </p><p>“Sixteen, trans. His family drove him to suicide. I just stopped him from going through with it.” Wade shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “He’s a good kid, you know? And these fuckwits are missing out because they wish he was a girl. Can you imagine that? You carry a kid for nine fucking months and you raise them for years and suddenly, you just decide to throw all that hard fucking work away? I hate it, Pete. I fucking hate it.” </p><p>“I know. It was a good thing he had someone like you looking out for him,” Peter B said. </p><p>“There’s so many kids out there, just like that. And I can’t help them.” Wade was biting his cheek quite harshly, kneading it between his teeth and shaking his head in a way that looked like he was barely aware of his actions. </p><p>“Jesus, you’ve been hanging around me too much,” Peter B chuckled, “you can’t save everyone, Wade. You taught me that, ya know.” </p><p>Peter B reached up and cupped Wade’s unbitten cheek in his hand. Sighing, Wade stopped biting and leaned into Peter B’s touch, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. A few breaths later, he opened his eyes again and smiled down at Peter B, patting his head and tousling the hair between his fingers with a lost, distant look in his eyes. </p><p>“You got video games here?” Peter B asked. </p><p>Wade blinked a few times, clearly startled by the question. “Yeah, sure.” </p><p>“You’re on, then,” Peter B said. </p><p>Wade stood up and flicked the TV on, booting up a video game and tossing a controller to Peter B. They sat on the couch together and played, swearing and yelling whenever something happened, occasionally leaning over to shove each other into the couch and take advantage of the distraction to get the upper hand. At one point, Peter B ended up with Wade’s wrists trapped between his knees, jamming and mashing the buttons on his controller to claim a game-breaking win. </p><p>Arguing about whether Peter B had cheated (he definitely <em> had, </em> but he wasn’t going to admit that to Wade) Peter B rolled his eyes, stopping and squeaking in protest when Wade lunged at him and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing and tackling him into the couch. Peter B choked out a winded <em> oof </em>as Wade flopped onto his chest and settled there, smothering each of Peter B’s limbs. </p><p>It was peaceful, laying with Wade on the couch. They seemed to be doing a lot of that these days - just like old times. </p><p>“I’m going to fucking kill both of you,” Wade said. </p><p>And the moment was gone. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>These two are so stupid and I love them. </p><p>Healthy relationship with communication and boundaries? PLEASE! </p><p>If you like Hannibal (which sort of defeats the purpose of me writing about healthy relationships but uh... oops?) please consider checking out my other works! </p><p>My texting is a healthy mix of Peter B and Gwen: correct grammar/spelling/caps with all the internet lingo sprinkled in. Also,,, 'bruh'. I'm so sorry about the underling, I don't know what happened with it but it's pissing me off, so it's probably pissing you guys off too. Might change it to bold. </p><p>Comment and let me know what you think! I love all comments, whether they're essays (my personal favourite) or just a little '!!!'. I respond to all comments, but if you'd like to leave me something without my response, just put a little '///' at the end of your comment and I'll appreciate your words in silence!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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